The Old Algoon
We barged thru’ the doors of the old Algoon
And found a place to set down our moon.
A wave of the hand and a wink of the eye
Was all it took to summon the guy.
Our throats were dry and parched like the sand,
The Red Caps he banged on the table were grand.
For a swig of the suds, the cool of the ale
The old Algoon; it never did fail.
Sometimes we consumed pickled eggs, one or two.
Quiet yolks were yellow, the grey ones you knew ….
With hootin’ and hollerin’ we farted and laughed
And the quench of our thirst took many a draught.
This is the place where boys became men;
A Willowdale shrine again and again.
Just come whet your whistle, come play your tune
‘Cause we are the gang from the old Algoon.
Don Brown
