Whose cans these are I think I know.

The tavern owner's name is Joe;

He will not see me drinking here

As on assignment he must go.

 

My little buzz will let me hear

If friend or foe approaches near

And so I sit upon a stool

And swill his brew year after year.

 

He gives his head a nod to say

"I do not think he'll ever pay

The growing list of brews and ale

This old young man adds to his tab."

 

The mugs are lovely, clean and bright,

I've no place else to go tonight,

And beers to drink before I sleep,

And beers to drink before I sleep.