Come gather good people and hear the strange tale
Of a man who was known in each county and vale
In a pub down in London called the White Horse's tail
Sat the one man in England who didn't drink ale
He's known in each tavern, both distant and near:
That queer little fellow who doesn't like beer.
His father disowned him by the grief and the shame
His wife, she divorced him and his son changed his name
No country will claim him and them we can't blame
For not drinking beer is his one claim to fame
He's known in each tavern both distant and near:
That sober ne'er-do-'ell who doesn't like beer.
One day we conspired to drive him quite mad:
So I pissed in his tankard where his water he had
I set it before him saying "try this me lad",
He took a big sup and said "this one's not bad!"
He's known in each tavern both distant and near:
That perplexing bastard who doesn't like beer.
Through song and through story his prominence rose
Till the Queen saw the portrait of him in repose
He tried to impress her by wearing new clothes
And a picture of drinking while holding his nose
He's known in each tavern both distant and near:
That strange motherfucker who doesn't like
Lambics or lagers or bitters or bocks
Or pilsners or porters or mead sweet and clear
Whether stouts or old weizens or ales brown and pale,
That strange motherfucker who doesn't like beer!