Pyrrhic Victory : 13 stanzas each of 4 lines about drinkers trying to stop a constant ‘tall-tale’ teller from telling another one.
We all stood round expectantly,
As we sank another ale,
For Old Bob to bore us stupid
With another “dinkum” tale.
We’d organised some other blokes
And brought a flamin’ bird in
To see if we could drink with Bob
And him not get a word in.
We’d got slick Frank, the auctioneer,
But without his blinkin’ gavel.
He could spruik while underwater
With his mouth stuffed full of gravel.