From barley we get home-brewed ale,
From malt our whiskey comes,
But from the oats in Staffordshire
Do come our lumpytums.

*

There's folk that's teetotalers, they drinks water neat.
It must rot their gullets and given them webbed feet,
But I always say that a man can't grow stale
On boiled beef and bacon and good English ale.

Ale, ale, glorious ale!
Served up in pewter, it tells its own tale.
Some folks likes cabbages, some curlye kale,
But give I boiled parsnips,
And a great dish of taters,
And a lump of fatty bacon,
And a pint of good ale!