Hugged in the hands of the many and the few,
As we collect, stack and wash glasses until they gleam,
Conversations at the bar just letting off steam,
Counting out change -make sure that it's right,
The locals rarely tip as they're far too tight,
Some come to drown their sorrows others with a raging thirst,
Seeing the very best of people as well as the very worst,
Here comes trouble hurtling, full throttle, down the track,
If you punch him in the face you'll not be welcomed back,
Whilst they sit at the bar judge the quality of the beer,
Watching out for those heavy hitters that have no fear,
Happy go lucky are who you prefer to serve,
A psycho-therapy siren you mix with vim, vigour and verve,
'Time at the bar please' is what we always love to shout,
As we clean up, wipe down and kick them all out,
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