The height of our maffick was shown by the traffic
Of people
coming into our steeple
The neighbours’ alarms at our boisterious charms
Brought the
police to the party we’d wrought
We offered them drinks and the sauciest winks
In reference to
their varying preference...-s
And the police to us says as they all donned a fez:
"The beer
here is equal to cheer."
Now people say how
Phil's end of term party
Will be the end of
society:
Should we feel bad? Maybe we would...
But we're too bloody
smashed to feel queer.
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