There was a young hasher named Yorky
Who started the trail with a porky
But backwards instead
Then locked up the bags with a door key.
He said, no drink stop this time
There was, but that’s not a crime
FagEnd & Plastered
Had the trail mastered
The beer they provided, sublime!
He said, like the London trail, but better
It wasn’t, because that one was wetter
If it was the same
Then that was a shame
Mad Cow was the golf course forgetter.
Skirting round a Northala Hill
Famously made from Wembley landfill
The trail took a lurch
To the right by the church
Then on to the pub, and beer to swill.
Back from the r*n with a thirst
Service at the bar was the worst
Free Loader treated shabbily
While Last Tango got her Chablis
And the rest of us waited and cursed.
The queue had abated
While Martian Matron had waited
Despite the fact that she’d queued
They stopped serving food
And left Moreon’s hunger unsated.
Down downs with Whacker, with drink stop beer
Scar Face & Sleek Cheeks visited here
The RA was comical?
With the truth economical
What to do with the last pint? no idea!