Imbibing Idiot Bias
Holding Chateauneuf du Pape
I look like a stupid chap,
But with a glass of Beaujolais
It’s plain my brain’s been shot away.
Standing with some Liebfraumilch,
I am of the gormless ilk,
But lounging with a Moscatel
I’m dense and cretinous as well.
Sipping at a nice Rioja,
I seem really off my rocker,
But with a decent Sauvignon
All my intelligence seems gone.
Even with a glass of Merlot,
My nous is clearly on a furlough –
When I get some Swedish Glogg in,
Sure, there’s nothing in my noggin.
Even with a gin and tonic,
I am marked down as moronic:
Those who saw me quaff some hock said
‘What a dim and doltish blockhead.’
Just a sip of Cotes du Rhone,
It’s certain that my head is bone:
Even with a quiet spritzer
Nobody's certain where my wits are.
Perry, sherry, beery foam,
The lights are on, but no-one’s home:
They say the Chancellor is bright.
And you know what? I think he’s tight.
