Having ventured miles beyond the parish ditches, I soon lose the familiar scent of shit on wheat. And now will these pockets be filled or will they fill me Full of wine? These anecdotes (echoed From pub snugs, steel jugs, Old lads roaring the youth out of their faces) Twist my ears and pull my legs, From the street through the main door, 'Til I'm the ear they echo for. Fed with talk, I gulp and sup, Another for one is never enough. Fed with talk I gulp and sup, and onward unaware. Fed with talk, I gulp and sup, Another for one is never enough. Fed with talk I gulp and sup, and onward unaware Onward unaware, Onward unaware Swimming in the stout, Watching the cream from below, The head above it sinks slowly, to where I wade, And I can't hear the din about me; Have to sit here, at the bottom, Before my mouth will swallow me In.