Yashur al Faqur is what he’s called
He’s got lots of friends, some hairy, some bald
But none can drink as much as he does
He wakes up each morning already with a buzz.
He doesn’t do drugs and he doesn’t smoke
But damn he loves his Jack and Coke.
It pours out his veins, it seeps through his epidermis
He brought beer to first grade in his nice cold thermos.
He loves to funnel, he loves keg stands,
He’s always got a Brew or two wrapped up in his hands.
When a friend walks in the bar Yashur’s always there assisting,
As he’s always got an extra beer, always double-fisting.
He knows all the specials and he knows all the deals,
He goes out eight days a week and skips all his meals.
He knows a good beer, he knows when it’s right,
I recall after a sip he once said, “That’s not Bud Light.”
He’ll drink it if it’s new, he’ll drink it if it’s old,
He’ll drink it if it’s warm, he’ll drink it if it’s cold.
He’ll drink in the city, he’ll drink in the hood,
He’ll out drink you, he’ll even out drink Ryan Atwood.
To find him, you never have to look too far,
You can always find him at the bar.
He’s always sitting there like some drunken fool,
And he’s even got his very own barstool.
Blue light, Coors Light, Keystone, Guinness,
It’s easy for Santa to bring Jeff happiness.
He loves his beer more than his cash,
More than Barry’s beard, more than Matty’s rat ‘stache.
He’s a man of pride, there’s absolutely no quitting,
His only problem is that of admitting,
If you ask him, his drinking habits are fabulous,
But if you ask us, he needs Alcoholics Anonymous.
Chief Staff Writer, Otis Terry Sanderson
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