On the horns
of a dilemma
the great Galoot
rode into town.
His ugly-stick
was in its sheath,
his eyes a glimmer,
he sat down.

One meaty hand
soon ascended
drawing barmaids
far and near.
He summoned grog
and chili dawgs
and ate them all
without fear.

His dour face,
red with drink,
soon displayed
A dreadful smile.
Unsteadily,
He tottered forth
dwarfing all
the rank and file.

Mindful of a
shrewish wife,
He headed home,
and missed a turn.
Thrown clear he sank
into a funk
destined finally
to crash and burn.

Spirits fey and
specters carved
from moonlight
gathered at the scene.
The great Galoot,
stick in hand,
wept that it was
not some dream.

He rumbled low and
screeched at last
raging at the
endless sky.
I was too young
and beautiful
(he complained)
to ever die.

Now he haunts
the countryside,
terrorizing the
tourist trade.
Driving drunk,
did him in and
made a most
penitent shade.