When toast conveyance is what’s sought—
a glass of crystal fine.
When toast gustation has been shot,
blame old dank wine.

With old fine wine we cheer,
but old rank wine
is not made for stomach ingress.
[Es]chew old rank wine.

If it gets to your tummy’s inside,
you may not feel so fine.
Effectively it may make ipecac moot—
you’ll blow lunch in time.

It blows out in a show’ry stream,
like the sea’s big tide.
And that will cause you great remorse;
in a funk you may slide.

Time to bring about its musty end—
that’s what I’d do in due course.
Eschew the stuff, and never drink
bad wine from which cork’s pried.

There’s no need to sponge up tummy blight
of mixed-morsels food land mines.
So let’s go and get our whistles wet:
Get so tanked…blind.