Inebriated in our jest, we sit around the table- While fondling with our maiden guests.. these days we have no cable. We've had our nights with toiling fights, and played our rounds of poker- And if your leg should feel a bite, it's just the midget joker. There never is a quiet hush inside the boisterous meetings, you're bound to hear the toilet flush and hear the sound of bleeting. The nosey crow sweeps to and fro, with droppings from the ceiling- Some try to stake it with a hoe, but it just keeps on wheeling. These are the usual goingons.. with chugging jars and rooters- Engulfed in grueling marathons, knights chasing after hooters. As vile concoctions float our minds and laughter fills our storage, we look and see the goodking Arthur sleeping in his porridge. Don't worry though, all of this scruff occurs behind closed doors- The village sleeping sound outside.. are drowned beneath their snores.