We Got A Little Rule Back Home:

Ah, Good Ol’ Trustworthy Beer. My Love For You Will Never Die.

The Outcome Of The War Is In Our Hands; The Outcome Of Words Is In The Council.

It Never Was Our Guise To Slight The Poor, Or Aught Humane Despise.

Fear, O Achilles, The Wrath Of Heaven; Think On Your Own Father And Have Compassion Upon Me, Who Am The More Pitiable

Men Grow Tired Of Sleep, Love, Singing And Dancing Sooner Than Of War.