Shakespeare come out of the bog, I'm a cross gartered fool desperate to be let in

Shakespeare come out of the bog, I'm a cross gartered fool desperate to be let in (c)

By Michael Casey

Today is Shakespeare's Birthday, 23rd April

So he is quiffing ale like Falstaff

So his bladder is fit to but

So needs must, he is in the bog

No not an Irish bog, like found in Kerry and those parts

The kind of bog where farts are found

A toilet in any other words

Can you hear hear the Earthy Sounds

A hail of rain, and tempest galore

Merrily I say to thee, Shakespeare is past

He has had his Measure for Measure, and more

Litre pint glasses he adores, he is all for Europe

If he can fit more in his glass

And now it is all coming out his ass

And I don't mean a donkey

Though he brays like one

Especially if he is sat upon

But is takes up all the bench with a buxom wench

Where are we all to sit

So we all say, move up a bit

Then he has to go for a sh**

He says he won't dally while he dumps

The wench's breast look like mumps

So we say, take your time

It's no crime, as Falstaff moves in

His double chins as large as the maiden's breast

Though she is far from Maiden

She's been had, and Elizabeth said it first

When she was a walk on part, as Falstaff farts

So Shakespeare is in the bog and we cheer merrily

As the Inn Keeper to his credit will but the ale bill

on Shakespeare's account, because he is a right count

We did get a penny worth of bread for Falstaff

As he never drinks on an empty stomach

As we leer and tarry with the maiden

Shakespeare has inspiration and takes out his quill

As sat on the toilet, he writes a new Thriller

The Tempest, and judging from the noises off

It is the perfect title

As washed up on a sea of ale, Shakespeare writes his Tale

We are glad for him and call for more Strumpets

which are a bit like bread, recently invented and called 

Crumpets, so now you know, because I told you so

Annie was at the gate, so I missed a line

she is very refined and paints

But back to the yard of ale, for more of the tale

Shakespeare would not come out

No matter how loud we shout

He just used his quill and wrote on the wall

Many a verse, as we converse with Strumpets

And hoping for a bit of crumpet

Will was in there with his quill

Not know he would be paying the bar bill

But as the wind blew, he knew with his quill

He had swallowed a bitter pill

If he was writing on paper, then scenes would be missing

As the ale and hapworth of bread

Had entered via his head

Now was dropping like lead down the hole in the ground

With such a mighty echoing sound

Yes, Will was all piss and thunder

That's why he webbed words together like a song

And could do no wrong on any stage

And now filled with rage for the lack of a page

He was the writing was on the wall

But he was having a ball 

And so were we with Strumpets

Best paid by Will on his tabulations behind the bar

Though the Strumpets behinds, in front and behind the bar

Were England's Glory be far

For God and King Harry Parts One and Two

Were writ when he'd had quite a few

Strumpets and Ale, they were both for sale

And Will Shakespeare knew how to take the measure of both

He was a playwrite of note after all

And he was always after, before, after and during

He had to dip his quill, that's why Will was Will

He was no sheep in a pen, he was frolicking at will 

And Will did grow up in the wool trade and wrote all his own stuff

Though Ernest the Wise innkeeper always said it was bracing air

Like at Morcambe that made the lines fizzle

Not the damp air and drizzle outside

So come inside for we have crumpet to go with the ale

Best served by our very own strumpets

And what of Me?

I am Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham

And it is I who is left to beat my carpet

For the bastard Will left the cat in

And she sha** on my rug, so now I have to beat it

To clean the mess off

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare

And hurry up out of the bog

So I can use it, and maybe I can steal a few lines

Off the Wall, as I dance the night away

Farting Happy Birthday