Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the 'Lou,
All the drinkers were looking for something to do.
The Duck Room was ready, speakers ready to blare
In hopes that The Feed soon would rock there.

The Monads played fast with eyes bloodshot and red,
While visions of bourbon shots danced in their heads.
Ocean Rivals were playing to fans who were perky
I knew they had yet to get too full of turkey.

The drinks on the bar were lit from above
By a blue-neon Pabst sign, the beer that I love.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a waitress - with tattoos - and Jagermeisteer.

And the able bartender was lively and quick,
I tipped well so I wouldn't look like a dick.
More rapid than FEMA his orders they came,
And he hollered, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Miller! now, Guinness! now, Sam Adams Light!
On, vodka! On, whiskey! on, red wine and white!
To the top of the lips! To the top of the gumsl!
Now drink it up! Drink it! Stomach here it comes!

And then in the men's room there arose quite a clatter
Some douchebag was puking - and boy did it splatter.
Away to the closet, I took the mop off the shelf,
Then gave it to douchie and said "Clean it yourself."

You can sleep in tomorrow, so to the Duck Room with speed,
to see The Monads, Ocean Rivals, and also The Feed.
The doors are at eight, with a ten dollar cover
So 'Good Thanksgiving Eve to all, and to all a short hangover!'