(apologies to R. Frost)
Whose beer is this, I think I know
He went to use the potty though
He will not see me stopping here
To drink his beer and not spend dough
My little Harlot thinks it's queer
To stop here and have just one beer
Between the checks it's a short break
The longest hash run of the year
She gives her head a thirsty shake
And asks if there is some mistake
Then I admit that I'm the Sweep
The Hares were drunk, the trail's fake
The beer is lovely, dark and deep
But I have hashers lost like sheep
And miles to hash before I sleep
And miles to hash before I sleep
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