The fable of GILB starts as such

From the split of the hops

The pungent odor of barley

Takes over the mind-

Careful walking, here’s a crutch

 

We start in a town so simple and plain

So simple so much

It’ll drive WILB insane

No need for cocaine,

Alcohol will do

GILB comes calling

Don’t forget to come too

 

Four fingers touch my face

And thumb in my mouth

The wilbology begins

And things turn south

The spirits are flowing

The faces of all YE young wilbs are glowing

The cold northern air smacks thy face all the while

The whistles of trowbridge are a blowin

 

Sip and sip round the table

Stacking cups-

I assure you this is no fable

We have no bearings

No course no path

But we keep on drinking

Cause fuck this bullshit ass

Signed,

Wilbologists: Gric unt Titch

SEPTEMBER 15th, MUNICH, GERMANY

LAIMER’s