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Best Famous Sloshed Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sloshed poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sloshed poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sloshed poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of sloshed poems.

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Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Fuzzy-Wuzzy

 (Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
 An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
 But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined.
We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills, The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.
Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did.
We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.
'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, So we must certify the skill 'e's shown In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear, An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year.
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more, If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore; But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair, For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square! 'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead; 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! 'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn For a Regiment o' British Infantree! So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air -- You big black boundin' beggar -- for you broke a British square!


Written by John Berryman | Create an image from this poem

Dream Song 55: Peters not friendly. He gives me sideways looks

 Peter's not friendly.
He gives me sideways looks.
The architecture is far from reassuring.
I feel uneasy.
A pity,—the interview began so well: I mentioned fiendish things, he waved them away and sloshed out a martini strangely needed.
We spoke of indifferent matters— God's health, the vague hell of the Congo, John's energy, anti-matter matter.
I felt fine.
Then a change came backward.
A chill fell.
Talk slackened, died, and began to give me sideways looks.
'Chirst,' I thought 'what now?' and would have askt for another but didn't dare.
I feel my application failing.
It's growing dark, some other sound is overcoming.
His last words are: 'We betrayed me.
'