By Jim Atherton
Elsie loves her whisky; it drives away her cares,
She will never find it far away resting on a chair.
It seems to warm and comfort her on chilly winter nights,
Consoling her when all goes wrong, it puts her world to rights.
She would never be without it, worth every penny that it cost,
And if she couldn’t find it she surely would feel lost.
It puts a twinkle in her eye; you will never hear her moan,
For when she has her whisky why she never feels alone.
She takes her whisky upstairs each night when she goes to bed,
For it seems to send her off to sleep, at least that’s what she said.
Is Elsie alcoholic? no she surely isn’t that,
For whisky is the name she chose, for her little pussycat.