Stopping by this dude's house

on the Fourth of July

Whose brews these are I think I know,

His ass is in the One World though.

He will not see me drink his beer,

And therefore won't `til later know.

My little friend will think it queer

To come home drunk and have no beer.

Between the milk and molding steak

The drunkest evening of the year.

He'll give his spinning head a shake

To ask if there is some mistake

—Then the cupboards with a sweep,

But then again the guy's a flake.

These brews are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep,

And beers to go before I sleep,

And beers to go before I sleep.