Ballad of Real Ale (Kevin Pratt) Come all you bold lads that drink Brum beer, Sit down by the bar and a tale you shall hear, Of the Midlander's Mecca where real ale is sold And the Black Country pubs that produce liquid gold, for it's Real Ale, not bottled ale, or pressurised drum beer But pump-pulled pure nectar, full-bodied and clear; If you drink of this liquid, you're bound for to say, Skidderly addle raddle faddle ladle fal ral di day. There was Malcolm and Margaret, with Colin and Gale, Two Michaels and Kevin in search of good ale; ``No more Brew Eleven or Ansels!'' they cried, As down Hagley Road through the twilight they sped, seeking With precise navigation all eager and dry To The Castle in Netherton the cars they did fly. ``D'you want glasses with handles, or straight?'' the girl said, As she drew the bright bitter with white frothy head, it was Well, the bitter was served and the dark malty mild, With joy and enrapture our hearts were beguiled. Simkiss the Brewers with praises we blessed, And another round ordered, just to re-test of this, for it's Quite warmed to our calling, we started with haste For Bathams Delph Brewery, their mixture to taste. It was sweet, clear, well-hopped and it flowed in the glass, And in friendly good comp'ny a half-hour did pass, drinking At last we set out for our final abode, At Pardoes Old Swan on the Halesowen Road, With Victorian ceiling, enameled and white, And pot-bellied stove to cheer up the night, along with Mild, bitter and lager was ordered with cheer, While the barmaid looked on with the hint of a sneer, ``We have Homebrew and Homebrew or Homebrew,'' she mused As she drew all the drinks from the one pump she used, it was Well, up north they've McEwan, Maclay and Old Tom, In the south Elgood, Everard or Pope to choose from. But Simkiss and Bathams we'll ever revere, And Pardoes' Homebrew unto death we'll hold dear, for it's Copyright Kevin Pratt BR
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!