Of Bald Men and Bears

In the year of our Lord, two-thousand five,
On the seventh of April, a man came alive.
Where once stood a child of foolish disposition
Now stands an adult yet knowing not stupidity's remission.
After all, we must ask ourselves, 'Who's kidding whom?'--
Any fool can see that wisdom is not yet in full bloom.

Why does the law confer rights at an age chosen so arbitrarily,
Without which most people could still get along quite merrily?
And what is the qualitative difference between cigarettes and wine,
That forces the young to do without the latter for a longer period of time?
But Scripture commands that to authorities we must submit,
Unless these authorities make decrees contrary to God's holy writ.

And so, to my 21st birthday have I waited,
To partake of precious alcohol with breath so bated.
And you, dear friends, shall be witnesses of the blessed event:
This being on the morrow of a long season of Lent.
So anticipation is growing; the time is nigh
Where I, with them good ol' boys, can at last drink whiskey and rye.

But we must keep in mind on this, a most somber occasion,
The dangers of drink, lest we fall into temptation.
For I am as depraved as any man or woman here,
My sinful flesh not operating above addiction to beer.
Thus I implore you, friends and colleagues here gathered today,
To help protect me hereafter from what could become alcohol's evil sway.

Yet it must be noted that drinking, in itself, is not wrong,
As long as it be relegated to where it belongs.
But enough of this doggerel, silliness, and play;
The time is arrived to wrap up this poem straightaway.
Besides, in writing this I've grown quite tired of having to think.
So, without further ado, would somebody please pass me a drink?