The Rime of the Ancient Bro

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Golden Words presents:
Classics Corner:

LORDS of the LANGUAGE:
Masterpieces of English Literature

The Rime of the Ancient Bro
by Samuel Taylor Broridge
Part the First.
It is an ancient Bro,
And he stoppeth one of three.
“By thy long gold flow and mellow eye,
Now wherefore hassle’st thou me?

“The Kegger’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next at pong;
The boys are here, the ‘Chell is on:
May’st hear the Avicii song.”

He holds me with his hammy hand,
“There was a club,” quoth he.
“Eff off! Unhand me, decrep’t fool!”
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his blood-shot eye–
The Kegger-Guest stood still,
And listens like a Vic Hall frosh:
The swole Bro hath his will.

The Kegger-Guest sat on a porch:
He cannot chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient dude,
The mellow Brosipher:

The club was cheered, the dance-floor cleared,
Merrily the bass did drop
Below the lights, below the amps,
Below the beat non-stop

The DJ came up upon the left,
Out of the restroom came he!
And he mixed bright, and on the right,
Faded EDM and country

And now the Last-Call came, and he
Was tyrannous and wrong:
He struck with his downer wings
And chased us out along

And now there came both mist and vomit
And it grew wondrous lame
And vibes, so harshed, came floating by,
A night, like, way too tame.

And through the streets the barren halls
Did send a dismal feel,
Nor shapes of broads nor hos we ken–
The dry spell all between.

At length did cross an Albatross:
Through the haze it came
As if this literary symbol made sense to us,
We hailed it in Brodin’s name

It ate the food it ne-er had eat,
And like some misplaced metaphor it flew.
The dry did split with an awesome hit,
My wingman steered us through!

And a good streak sprung up,
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for some odd reason,
Came to the Bro’s holla!

In haze or cloud, on tap or funnel,
It perched for pancakes nine;
While all the night, through fog-machine smoke white,
Glimmered the Leggings-shine

“Broki save thee, ancient Bro!
Did this Pacific seabird’s inexplicable presence here upset you thus?
Why look’st thou so?”—With my cross-bro

I shot the Albatross.
Part the Second
The DJ now rose upon the right:
Out of the restroom came he,
Still hid in fog, and on the left
Went down and let us be.

And the thirsty wind still blew behind,
But no messed bird did follow,
Nor any day, making no sense,
Came to the mariners’ holla!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would make them angered:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
Which, by the way, ‘s endangered.

Night after night, night after night,
We struck out, nor digits nor laying;
As idle as a timid Beta
Upon a res floor blazing.

Women, women, every where,
And all the Bros did shrink;
Women, women, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
To be continued…?
 

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