The Obligatory Drinking Song

Seraphino reluctantly satisfies the oldest demand placed upon a tavern bard: produce something loud, simple, and suitable for raised tankards. Built around crowd responses, stomping rhythm, and increasingly cheerful interruption, the song becomes both a genuine drinking anthem and a running commentary on its own predictability.

Every tavern containeth a philosopher who, after sufficient ale, discovereth that the evening lacketh a drinking song. It mattereth not that three have already been sung. Tradition, when intoxicated, possesseth a remarkably short memory.

I resolved to fulfill the custom so completely that no reasonable patron could request it again before morning. Thus the tune was made for feet, cups, and voices possessing more enthusiasm than rehearsal. The crowd doth not accompany the performance so much as overtake it, which is entirely faithful to the environment. Beneath my objections, however, lieth a reluctant affection. Predictability is not always failure. There is value in a refrain known before it arriveth, particularly when strangers require an excuse to sing as one. Tradition was satisfied. Whether we returned thereafter to proper music is a matter upon which the tavern and I retain differing accounts.