And he enters, singingly, strumming on his twelve-string banjo-lute:

Now is the month of Maying
When merry lads are laying
Fa la la la la la la la
Repeat

Each with his bonny lass
Get-ting a little ass
Lewdly sing cuckoo!

Sidling up to the bar he asks for whisky and oatmeal.

"Gotta keep the old ticker healthy," he says as he dunks his watch into the gluey mess.