Battle Hymn of Summers

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the end Joe is trampling out the vintage where customers are stored, He has loosed the fateful lightening and totally offends His complete incompetence is marching on. I have seen Him ignore a hundred circling guys They have built Joe an altar tho a drink he never buys The fact he blames everyone but himself never flies His complete incompetence is marching on.

That's Summers

That's Summers (that's Summers), that's what all the people say You're ignored in April, overcharged in May But I know I'm gonna stop coming here soon When I'm back on top, back on top in June I said that's Summers (that's Summers), as funny as it may seem Joe get his kicks stompin' on each customer's dream But I don't let him win, let it get me down 'cause this fine old world, it keeps goin' around That's Summers (that's Summers), I tell you I can't deny it But our favorite bar of all time has really gone to shit

Summers Sonnet III

Look in thy glass and tell the emptiness thou viewest
Now is the time the bartender should pour another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Reveals thou dost really want to unbless a brother

For where is the bartender so fair whose fault
Disdains the dreary tillage of thy husbandry?
So they can visit Joe's underground vault
Of self-love and questionable paternity? 

But if thou live, and if thou go to Summers
Woe is thee and you must leave immediately,
Thou will be unable to purge all the terrible bummers
And thou will die single and thine image dies with thee.

Summers Sonnet 43 (Ode 3)

It is the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare's death today. It is only appropriate that as creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of last call; and all our wasted yesterdays at Summers have lighted fools the way to Summers' dusty death, that we celebrate Summers as we celebrate Shakespeare, and to that end we compose this eulogy:

Summers, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need for warm flat beer
I love thee freely, though I can't buy a thrill.
I love thee purely, though you gave me the wrong bill.
I love thee with the passion put to use ignoring my will.

Summers Sonnet 43 (Ode 2)

Summers, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee for thy flat beer
I love thee for thy dearth of cheer
I love thee for thy lack of service
Why do you make me so nervous?

Summers Sonnet 43 (Ode 1)

Summers, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee Summers to the depth of your HD TVs
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
Because the bartender can't even see me.