Follicle to Fundament

Follicle to Fundament I’m not James Bond or Jimmy Beard, But I know what to drink with weird. There was a list which I was sent, From follicle to fundament: White or red? Your meal’s still dead; Just get fed, And go to bed. Chardonnay with fish filet? Chops with Vosne Romanee? Whether to drink old or young? (Rampling or Christensen?) When I drink there is no doubt, I place my order and make it stout: Guinness and a Jameson— What was it that you called me, then? Buffalo, lion, antelope, I’d even order for the Pope; ChristBlood singing in a chalice, Sweet red wine drunk without malice. In to Bourbon’s slurried well, Amber pours and secrets tell Of intermittent deprivations And mean slags pouring thin potations. I know a spot to sup with chums, With demis, mags and jeroboams; To start, How about an aperitif? Kir? Why not? But, make it brief; And should you want a postprandial, The green stuff’s good after a while. Absinthe makes the tart grow fond; La Fee Verte waves her magic wand; And if there is no place to go, We’ll stay inside with Veuve Clicquot; Coffee, grappa, chocolate cake — The last request that waiter’s take. It’s time to drink our rations up To lullabies which fill our cup.