During all my service in Germany as a callow and probably uncaring youth I was always treated with kindness and goodwill by all my local friends and acquaintances: except for this one time when ..!!
We called it the Rotten Shop, only because of its location
Not for the standard of the Pils, though on this occasion
The service was a bit lacking and the extras not quite
What we expected there on that or any other night.
We were chasing the pils with cognacs and coke
When Herr Ober, perhaps his way of having a joke,
Joined in the round at our expense, not quite right
Cos, as Aburrow said, we didn't extend any invite.
The third time it happened we said that's enough,
Buy your own if you want to drink the hard stuff.
This man then killed the rumour
About the locals lacking humour.
The next round was served alcohol free
But did he charge us any less not he,
And when Aburrow, a polite type of chap
Muttered that guy is asking for a slap,
Herr Ober stepped back one long straight pace,
Spraying us liberally from a little can of Mace,
Shouting loudly to the drinkers far and near
What a better world when the Fuhrer was here:
Before the ambulance, military, drove us away
The landlord, very humorously, added to the day
Suggesting it would be better all round if we would,
Not call the Politzei, but take Herr Ober into the wood.
Aburrow started laughing and so did I.
We withdrew all complaints by and by.
None of us had suffered from that attack,
Weren't bothered about getting him back.
Herr Ober was sacked for one whole long week
And the next time he served was a little more meek
On the whole though we had to admire that man;
He did come later to ask for the return of his can.