The ale house down Wellington road,  Bitter ale they sold,  But hey, it came with my youth, From cider to beer, all hops - no fruit, A quaint place where the fireplace is lit, never warm, Where nagging and bickering is the norm, Sat by the barkeep, I look down my glass, Reflection of a husk which echos my past, Will I turn out different, if I drank someone else’s ale?, I might just not be so weak, sick and frail, I’ve heard the ale house down the street,  sells drinks that are sweet, I would go, if it weren't for the chains that shackle my feet,  Chains that keep me in line,  All aligned,  The ale house down Wellington road,  Free bitter ale, never sold,  From the day of your birth, you take a swig, And down it comes pouring, until your grave you dig,  Ale so kind, Ale so sickly,  You lift your glass, you do it quickly, So barkeep doesn't spot, The undrunk ounce of an ale shot,  You drink your due and try not to care, The bruised wife of the barkeep sniffling upstairs.