Come to the Hairy Bear
To drink a pint of beer.
The ladies are so fair,
The gents though a bit weird.
We talk, we laugh,
Enjoy the draft
And cry for lack of beard.
Bairy hugs go all 'round
For lonely men
Who play some Gwent
And fear the woman crowned.
It always is the fault
Of the hairy fellow.
We drink the single malt
And sometimes chuck a Willow.
But in the end
We all pretend.
So have those bottles downed.
---------- Updated at 03:09 PM ----------
Well, found it weird enough you shared your living place with a maniac ...
Well who says, I am not way more dangerous and keep you feeling safe, while I lure you into a trap.
