As a callow youth of 18 I remember the Meggies singing a hymn to the late lamented Hewitt's Ales of Grimsby. Possibly written by John Conolly and/or Bill Meek. It was sung to the tune of the threshing machine and went something like:

I once was a weakling of 7 stone 10
I daren't take me shirt of before other men
I wrote to Charles Atlas and told him me tale
He sent me a crate full of Hewitt's best ale

Chorus

It won't fail, it can't fail that ubiquitous liquid called Hewitt's best ale.

My brother had trouble with marital bliss
Each night in the bedroom not even a kiss
Now his wife's fierce embraces they turn him quite pale
He washed his pyjamas in Hewitt's best ale.

Ch

If your natural functions are proving a strain
And you've been to the doctor again and again
When the syrup of figs and the senna pods fail
try just half a teaspoon of Hewitt's best ale

ch

Forgive my failing memory for any remaining verses or the versimilitude of those quoted.

Roger