From many a classic scroll and tome
In golden texts the warnings shine:
“If you must drink, get soused at home!
Will you get pickled? Then use brine!”
Each generation gets a sign,
But each one needs another prod
From scriptures human or divine--
The Wastrel always drops his Wad!
Sleek Athens from the Attic loam
With ill intention coaxed the vine--
Arcadian Simps admired the foam
While hair-oiled City Gents malign
Dropped philters in the neatherd's stein--
Soon Corydon upon the sod
Lay coinless with a cloven chine--
The Wastrel always drops his Wad!
When Gallic ginks Cook-toured to Rome,
Or roaring Teutons from the Rhine,
The thought would fill some yokel's dome
To dally with the stranger's wine--
Next reel: tough students sprain his spine
And bean him with a curule rod
And roll him down the Palatine:
The Wastrel always drops his Wad!
Raus! Bacchus, with that breath of thine,
And sad eyes like a bilious cod!
Me for the Tracts--I've learned, in fine,
The Wastrel always drops his Wad!