The Stag's Head

This pub was a home from home.
The landlord Bert sold up and moved back to Ireland
last year.
We all miss the place like hell.
London pubs are so shit, and the Stag's was so good.
Lock ins, great music, fires, the Thai food, the pool table.
The smoking back garden, the tables out front.
The friendly regulars, the insane St Patrick's nights.
All gone.
And now Richard Whitely's heart packed in.
Maybe Bert's has too.
I hope not, I like to think he has got a wee pub somehwere in
the country full of the all the Stag's posters, trinkets and other memorabilia which I know he
was shipping back to Ireland.
Maybe his heart will pack in whilst serving a pint,
but at least it'll be at home.
That bloody Bill Clinton poster, the making love with wild Irishmen article and all the rest.
As you drank and chatted and laughed,
you never thought the day would come when
the doors would close for the last time.
It was a death we denied, but had to eventually accept.
Now where is the music played, where do you go?
Where are yers all?
Is that it?