Sung poem, West Sussex Drinking Song, by Hilaire Belloc (1870 - 1953).
Poem is out of copyright, public domain.
Video © all rights reserved.
They sell good beer at Haslemere
And under Guildford Hill.
At Little Cowfold, as I've been told,
A beggar may drink his fill:
There is a good brew in Amberley too,
And by the bridge also;
But the swipes they take in at the Washington Inn
Is the very best Beer I know.
With my here it goes, there it goes,
All the fun's before us;
The Tipple's aboard and the night is young,
The door's ajar and the Barrel is sprung,
I am singing the best song ever was sung
And it has a rousing chorus.
If I were what I never could be,
The master or the squire:
If you gave me the hundred from here to the sea,
Which is more than I desire:
Then all my crops should be barley and hops,
And if my harvest fail
I'd sell every rood of mine acres, I would,
For a bellyful of good ale.
With my here it goes, there it goes,
All the fun's before us;
The Tipple's aboard and the night is young,
The door's ajar and the Barrel is sprung,
I am singing the best song ever was sung
And it has a rousing chorus.
