Though Virtue hurt you Vice is nice; Aye, Parson says it's wrong, Yet for my pleasing I'll suffice With Women, Wine and Song. But though it be with jocund glee my tavern voice is ringing, Had I to chuck on of the three, By gad! I'd give up singing.
Bu not the vine. What draught divine Could better souse my throttle? God never meant that mellow wine Should languish in the bottle. So Cellerman, your best bring up; Let silver cobwebs mist it; When gold or ruby brims the cup, Could even saint resist it?
I love the ladies, yes, I do, I always did and will; I like with dainty dames to coo, And have been known to bill. Yes, I agree it's wrong of me, So call me grey rapscallion, But when a lusty lass I see I whinny like a stallion.
Oh let me be a reprobate, Your canting care defying; I'll court that gay triumvirate Right to the day I'm dying. So troll until the rafter rings, And may my life be long To praise the Lord for precious things like Women, Wine and Song.