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Why, if tis dancing you would be, 

There's brisker pipes than poetry. 

Say, for what were hop-yards meant, 

Or why was Burton built on trent? 

Oh many a peer of England  brews

Livelier liquor than the Muse,

And malt does more than Milton can

To justify God's way to man. 

Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink

For fellows whom it hurts to think. 

Look into the pewter pot 

To see the world as the world's not. 

--A.E. Housman

"Oh Mother dear, I'm over here

and I'm never coming back. 

What keeps me here is the Beer, the Women and the Craic!"

400 Orchard Road, #01-29C

Singapore 238875

Open daily - 12pm to 4am

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© 2017 The Drunken Poet. All Rights Reserved.

Old Saint Poet

Have you ever wondered why we’re called The Drunken Poet?

Get comfy and let me tell you the story…

Old Saint Poet is an avid drinker. Beer, whiskey, cider - you name it, he drinks it. Despite his age, he’s still a witty and knowledgeable old man. Albeit a little slow on his feet, he can chug a pint of Gat faster than you can blink.

Never a one for sunshine and rainbows, he’s often holed up in his attic drinking and scribbling away writing his poems. It gets his creative juices going, he says.

He greets his fellow neighbours every Friday with a very pleasant, “Piss off early, tomorrow’s Saturday!”

Old Saint Poet was a charity case. He babbles his poems to random people on the streets to get some loose change to get him by. He struck gold one day when a strange traveller passed by and bought all his poems. Perplexed, but ecstatic that he made a fortune, he inquired for this kind sir’s name. All Saint Poet got was, “The Traveller”. And the traveller disappeared the very next day without a trace.

With all that money, Old Saint Poet knew that his childhood dream could finally come true. He could finally open a drinking hole of his own, a place where people could have good drinks, good food and good craic all night long.

And there you have it. The Drunken Poet was born, incorporating both his favorite poems and his catchphrase, “Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday”. Following Old Saint Poet’s tradition, we celebrate POETS day every Friday with great pub grubs and a pint of Gat. So why not pop by, you might just catch a glimpse of Old Saint Poet in his corner writing his poems with a pint in hand!

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