Ode to Goldschläger
Oh, Goldschläger, Goldschläger,
You wonderful liqueur.
Captivating this boozy cataloguer,
You glitter from city to moor.
Warm cinnamon and flakes of gold,
Your sparkling swirl entices me.
One delicious sip and I am sold,
I could never be your enemy.
Some out there have hearts of stone,
They solemnly drink, aloft and alone.
They cannot appreciate the fun,
Of twinkling gold or cinnamon bun.
But oh, what’s that?
On lips of every Boy from Frat?
Plastering the shelves and wall,
I hear they call it...Fireball.
Never fear, my spicy friend,
I shall defend thee to the end.
For this sad challenger is tragic,
Fireball could ne’er replace your magic.