Where we are that we hold so dear
And all else just disappear—
All but that one stash of beer.
O, nag and cry we oft hear
Of this and that, of things unclear,
But up and up this boat must steer
For a prize grand and premier.
Here and there people may jeer:
Look at that! That's goddamn queer!
Worry not, we'll make 'em tear
With pride— and one stash of beer.
