"Spigotius Dripitus"

Welcome beer drinkers and visionary thinkers, the renowned Paul Plumb is spotlighted.
You should be informed and thereby forewarned, he’s on the verge of being indicted.

You’re all an outcast from his nefarious past and this invitation has cast a wide net.
So if you got snared, it’s not because he cared, it’s because he’s afraid of a threat.

I’ve known him for years through laughter n’ tears, but lost track when I went to college.
He lost his appeals and wound up in the seals, but I’m aware of his criminal knowledge.

I met him in fourth grade, and he made me afraid, he was mostly a bully and a jock,
But, we connected in the alley at a beer club rally, I know now, he’s mostly all talk.
                                                                                           
He’s got double bad knees, can no longer eat cheese, the doc wants to replace his liver.
Throw in two bad hips, and a bladder that drips, so he can no longer whizz like a river.

A Willie that is dripping, needs constant gripping, leaving one hand to grope friends.
Of course two handed Paul still wants to do it all, so he wears his soggy Depends.

As a mechanical aid, to help him get laid, when you see it, you’ll know I’m a genius.
It’s hot off of the shelf and if I say so my self, I have invented the prosthetic penis.

Call it serendipitous, its The Spigotis Dripitus, so named by those who speak Latin.
I may be a shamus, but if it works I’ll be famous.  I’ll sell it on the streets of Manhattan.
 
So, take his spigot and toss it, replace it with a faucet an screw on a long piece of hose,
Attach a little funnel, to put Viagra in the tunnel, hide the whole thing under his clothes.

He has so many metal parts, he’s got oil in his farts.  They can’t find a trace of albumin.
He’s gone from a stud with so much beer in his blood, to the point he’s only half human.

He’s almost immortal, he can’t get through the portal, there’s metal detectors in Heaven.
Too much access to surgeons, a bad history with virgins, so God cut him off at eleven.

Te politically correct, there’s the Virgin Mary to protect, we know God doesn’t want him.
God’ll string him along, for the things he’s done wrong, just to tease him and taunt him.

So there ain’t no forgiveness, he’ll get the business, he’s gonna be around a long time.
But, you can just bet, God’s not gonna forget, besides, he’s gotta atone for his crime.

Paul’s formed alliance with medical science, he’s gonna get him a little pig to clone.
With a little gene mapping, like grafting a sapling and take a little marrow from it’s bone.

With things like stem cells and some fancy gels and ointments imported from Sidney,
All he has do is feed it, and if he ever needs it, He can harvest himself a new kidney.

I just find it ironic that as he grows more bionic, it’s easier to stay ahead of the curve.
A common hardware store, has new parts galore and the pig can be an hors d’oeuvre.

I’m a bit cynical but as it gets more clinical, this whole thing has to be to reasoned,
They’ll inspect his remains with alcohol laced veins, to find them pickled an seasoned.

He’ll be found as a fossil, archaeologically colossal, perfectly preserved like a mummy.
His parts laid out, they’ll recognize him no doubt, with a shit eating grin like a dummy.

I hope I’m around as they put’m in the ground, as his friend they can put me beside him.
Just to see St Peter stare, as we both show up there, I’ve gotta ask God to deride him.

But in the time being, you all have to be agreeing, that day better be well down the road.
Where would Beer Club be, without a good Emcee, an we couldn’t watch Paul corrode?

I have to go and say it, anyway you play it, we wouldn’t know one another without you.
It wouldn’t be as much fun, it’s been a hell of a run. You’re eighty, but practically new.

Happy birthday buddy, your swim fins are muddy, you always gotta carry some pliers,
You been put away wet, covered in sweat and your kneecaps are held on with wires.

You’ve a life well lead, don’t let it go to your head, you’ve still gotta a lotta years to go.
There’s lots’a beer to swig, we gotta clone that pig. I’m stayin’ for the whole damn show.