307 Ales

Tune: "307 Ale" (Tom Smith)

Put together a Tampa seller which advertises 390 beers with a Nashville brewpub panned by a local critic for atrocious food, and you get the following. (There's no evidence I know of that pathogens can survive in fermented beers. If it spoils, it just tastes horrible.)

If someone takes you out to drink, please don't go on a hunch.
This is a little story of how not to lose your lunch.
You see, I have a friend who dragged me out one winter's day,
promising to take me to a brewpub quite outré
'cause they sold . . .

Chorus:
307 ales, my friend, that's what they advertised,
a brew from ev'ry nation and in ev'ry style and size.
You can have your Bud or Samuel Adams from the shelf so near.
But beware the bottles that they've kept for nigh on twenty years.

They made all of their food from choice ingredients, they said.
And, 'tis true, what landed on my plate was freshly dead.
I have to say my appetite just wasn't very keen,
for the Health Department said that cat with roadtracks wasn't cleaned.

(Chorus)

When the time for downing the first bottle came along,
I drank my chosen label but the taste was clearly wrong.
Formaldehyde or arsenic was what came to mind.
But I left that for the techies who run stomach pumps to find.

Chorus

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