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letra de this pub that we call home - poxy boggards

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well, allow me to tell ye of a place dear to heart
of each sailor and soldier, both sloven and smart
each face in that place is familiar and warm
where each traveler, weary, retreats from life’s storm

’tis this pub that we call home
and from her we oft’ times may roam
but a respite we’ll find
in a pint, maybe nine
in this pub that we call home

though married, but not merry, bearing lowly life’s load
and suffering the chafing of my long-winded road
entombed in the womb of this three house and bath
her walls provide shelter from my wife’s wicked wrath

’tis this pub that we call home
and from her we oft’ times may roam
but a respite we’ll find
in a pint, maybe nine
in this pub that we call home

in the hours when life sours and i’m weary and beat
from the hawking and c-cking i need to retreat
with a pail full of my ale and my good mates’ concerns
i’m rested, yet weary, ’til the battle returns
’tis this pub that we call home
and from her we oft’ times may roam
but a respite we’ll find
in a pint, maybe nine
in this pub that we call home

with the raging of aging, in my last breath i crave
please pull up the floorboards and dig me a grave
as you rouse and carouse, pour an ale on the floor
if you listen with care you may hear me cry “more!” (more! more! more!)

’tis this pub that we call home
and from her we oft’ times may roam
but a respite we’ll find
in a pint, maybe nine
in this pub that we call home

’tis this pub that we call home
and from her we oft’ times may roam
but a respite we’ll find
in a pint, maybe nine
in this pub that we call home

- poxy boggards

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