There are liquorless souls that follow paths
Where whiskey never ran --
Let me live in a bar by the side of the road
And drink from the old beer can.
Let me live in a bar by the side of the road
Where the race of man goes dry,
The men who are "drys" and the men who are "wets"
(But none are so "wet" as I.)
I see from the bar by the side of the road,
A land with a drouth accurst;
And men who press on with the ardour of beer,
And men who are faint with thirst.
I know there are bars in Old Mexico,
And schooners of glorious height.
That the booze splashes on through the long afternoon,
And floods through the gutters of night.
But still I take gin when the travelers take gin
And Scotch with the whiskey man,
Nor ever refuse a thirsty soul
A swig from my old beer can.
For why should I praise Prohibition's restraints,
Or love the revenue man?
Let me live in a bar by the side of the road
And drink from the old beer can!
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