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At The Golden Pig

by
 Where once with lads I scoffed my beer
 The landlord's lass I've wed.
Now I am lord and master here;-- Thank God! the old man's dead.
I stand behind a blooming bar With belly like a tub, And pals say, seeing my cigar: 'Bill's wed a pub.
' I wonder now if I did well, My freedom for to lose; Knowing my wife is fly as hell I mind my 'Ps' and 'Qs'.
Oh what a fuss she made because I tweaked the barmaid's bub: Alas! a sorry day it was I wed a pub.
Fat landlord of the Golden Pig, They call me 'mister' now; And many a mug of beer I swig, Yet don't get gay, somehow.
So farmer fellows, lean and clean Who sweat to earn your grub, Although you haven't got a bean: Don't wed a pub.

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