The night was cold, the night was wet.
The trail was gone, the skies a threat.
But hashers ran as hashers may.
And on their way were heard to say:
“We’ll run in cold! We’ll run in wet!
Though trail is gone and skies a threat!”
“On on! On on!” they ran and ran.
They ran as only hashers can.
They ran through carparks, ran past trees.
They ran in freezing, wheezing breeze.
They ran on paths and on the street.
They ran and ran on squelching feet.
“We’ll run in cold! We’ll run in wet!
Though trail is gone and skies a threat!
We’ll run through carparks, run past trees!
We’ll run in freezing, wheezing breeze!
We’ll run on paths and on the street!
We’ll run and run on squelching feet!”
And then they stopped and drank shot
And all began to lose the plot.
They cursed their lot with groans and wails,
“Oh woe is us, for now it hails!
Oh woe is us, the trail is long!
Our feet are wet! The wind is strong!”
They whined and moaned and carried on.
They cursed the skies. Their faith was gone.
“What’s with this hail? What’s with this rain?
We want the pub! Let’s end this pain!
We want our beer! We want our wine!
It’s Curry Night! We want to dine!”
The pub was warm. The pub had beer.
(Though London Pride had disappeared!)
But warm and dry and beer and wine
Changed all opinions. Life was fine.
“The trail was great! The hares deluxe!”
No more the cries of, “This hash sucks!”
The Circle came, as circles do
And hashers drank a beer (or two).
They drank and sang and sang and drank,
“Give us our beer! We’ve hares to thank!
We’ll sing and drink, and drink and sing.
Let beer be poured! Let voices ring!”
The night was cold, the night was wet.
The trail was gone, the skies a threat.
But hashers ran as hashers must.
And whined and groused and moaned and cussed.
Yes hashers ran, as hashers do.
‘Cause every hasher is true blue!
Shakes Beer