“He’s left his pipe” the barmaid cried
The smoker’s left he’s not inside.
The bowls still warm, he’s not long left
Without his pipe he’ll be bereft.
Imagine him sat by the fire
Looking for his favourite briar
A kind old boy who thinks a lot
He keeps his ‘baccy in a pot
He’ll blame his wife who’s hidden it
And there alone he’ll sadly sit
The plans he made the thoughts he had
Cheer up mate don’t be sad
A man needs time to sit and think
A pipe to smoke, a drink to drink.
Should we try to find the guy
He more than likely lives nearby
As they rise to look around
They hear an unexpected sound
The door flies open in she trips
With long blonde hair and mobile hips
Her lips are red, her eyes are kind
“Did I leave my pipe behind?”