The Schlafly Beer Employee Blog

January 25, 2011

Burns' Night 2011 at The Schlafly Tap Room - A Poem By Tom Schlafly

From Glasgow to the Hebrides, when Scottish bagpipes wail
And drummers drum for Robert Burns, ‘tis time to drink Scotch Ale.
‘Tis the day when all of Scotland drinks to Robert Burns.
And if ye drink enough Scotch Ale, Old Robert’s ghost returns.
His ghost returns resplendent with his sporran, tam and kilt.
And he’s been known to curse in verse, should his Scotch Ale be spilt.
His kilt’s the pride of Scotland.  It bears the family tartan.
He wears nothing underneath.  Burns’s ghost is Spartan.
Although the ghost is somewhat shy, he just need lift a glass
Of Scotch Ale.  Then he’ll lift his kilt for every passing lass.
On Burns Night he eats haggis, Scotch eggs and cock-a-leekie,
While lassies lift the laddies’ kilts to sneak a little peeky.
On Burns Night lads and lassies seem to lose their fear,
Shedding kilts and inhibitions on this night every year.
Burns’s ghost will tell us there’s a simple explanation:
“For treating shyness Scotch Ale is the ideal medication.
“For everything that ails ye, Scotch Ale cures it every time.
A tongue-tied lad who drinks Scotch Ale ere long will speak in rhyme.
Scotch Ale works like magic.  Ye don’t need a prescription.
It will cure your fits: both hissy and conniption.
“Scotch Ale works much better than lozenges or pills.
With it one can treat a multitude of ills.
The shepherd in his cottage and the king inside his palace
Know that Scotch Ale’s better than Viagra or Cialis.”
Burns’s ghost then added, “You know it’s just not fair.
Scotch Ale should be covered by Obamacare.
Who cares about a doctor, a lab test or a nurse?
Scotch Ale is a treatment they ought to reimburse.”
Then the ghost continued, “I don’t understand
What it means when people say that smoke in bars is banned.
There are several thousand bars that over the years I’ve haunted.
But as a ghost I’m made of smoke. Does that mean I’m not wanted?”
The ghost then took a sip of beer and said, “I have to say
I really cannot comprehend the bloody TSA.
Why attempt a body scan on a ghost like me?
A ghost inside a scanner?  What do they think they’ll see?
“Why would they pat down a ghost?  What do they think they’ll find?
They think that they can search a ghost? They’ve bloody lost their mind.
A ghost is just a spirit that defies the law of gravity.
The TSA cannot inspect a ghostly body cavity.”
On that note Burns’s ghost gives us all a wave,
Downs his beer and says, “It’s time to head back to my grave.”
With these parting words, he fades into the night.
The ghost of Robert Burns has vanished from our sight.
Now, I ask you all to join me in a toast
To the spirit of tonight, Robert Burns’s ghost.
In his lifetime he enjoyed many pleasures without guilt.
Let’s raise a glass to one who raised our spirits and his kilt.