Barleywine Underbite

He was old salty captain Smith
Of a glorious sailing ship
His right leg was made of wood
With a flask lashed to his hip

Filled to the brim always had he
An ancient exotic grog
Brewed with finest malted barley
And soggy peat from the northern bog

He snarled at the crashing waves
And the wind in the flapping sails
He learned to be a tough little bugger
From the short time he spent in jail

A giant of a man a king of sorts
Though not from his meager height
He had something no one else had
A barleywine underbite

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