A Child's Garden of Wine Verses

There was a crooked man, and he had a crooked view,
 
He owned a crooked business by the name of Premier Cru.
 
He’d sell you crooked Petrus, he’d sell you fake Mouton, see,
 
He’d bugger your dumb ass with his little scheme of Ponzi.








Mary had a Coravin,
She’d been fleeced, you know,
And every wine that Mary drank
Convinced her it was so.

It pierced the foil and the cork,
Which was against all rules,
The air replaced with neutral gas,
The wise replaced with fools.

But Parker had come out for it,
And praised the way it works.
They sold a million tubes of gas—
Symbolic of the jerks.

 
“You pierce the cork with stainless steel,
Remove it and it heels.
I remember my virginity,
I know how that cork feels.”

“But filling me with nasty gas,”
Said Mary to the makers,
“Just doesn’t keep my insides fresh—
Ask any undertakers.”

So Mary took her Coravin,
And all its stupid needles,
And tossed them in the fucking trash.
“It’s just as fake as Riedels.”


Simple Simon met a Steiman                                         
Living in an RV.
Said Simple Simon to the Steiman,
Your first name must be Harvey.

Says Simple Steiman to our Simon,
What about it, jerk?                           
Says Simple Simon to the Steiman,
I’m a big fan of your work.

Simple Simon went Tim-Fishing,
It was his stupid hobby.
“You must be quite an imbecile
To be beneath Jim Laube.”

“You all write just alike to me
Your works could not be samer.
Pretentious is your middle names,
Its last name ends in Kramer.”

We taste blind. We taste blind.
 
For all you know. For all you know.
 
We give the points that we think are due,
 
Them use them for our ad revenue,
 
But we swear to God that it isn’t true,
 
How stupid are you?

Little Miss Puckette
 
Sat on a bucket
 
Stealing her charts from prey.
 
Then came a real writer
 
Who sat down beside her
 
And frightened Miss Puckette away.









Monday’s wine is full of sweet,  
Tuesday’s wine goes great with meat.

Wednesday’s wine is full of Brett 
Thursday’s wine smells like ball sweat.

Friday’s wine is fucking corked. 
Saturday’s wine makes you feel porked.

But Sunday’s wine you think is rare will
Prove a fake from Acker Merrall.