Its £2.30 down our local
Not far off a fiver in town
And so, on it goes
The price of a pint, of near and far, of ups and downs
The government, the brewery, the landlord
Have all been scapegoats in their time
But now the doors to the Red Lion, the Royal Oak, the Nags Head 
Swing open
To let odd bedfellows laugh and scowl
Jostle and joke
Ah, the price of a pint
Knowing that those coins
Warmed by the lining of a winter pocket
Will buy just one for now
Ah, but there is more
What really is the value of a pint?
That amber pleasure 
Standing with white atop
Tall and straight
Or squat
It matters not
See friends, perhaps
Or strangers, passing for a while
Wooden tables
Cushioned seats
Or stools, or chairs
Or over at the bar where
An elbow leans
A foot rests
It matters not
For the pint is there
The pint
That source of conversation
The pint
That is the aperitif
To contests of the spirit and the mind
And occasionally the body
The pint
That is the pillar of community
Or just the solace of the sole traveller
And you oh constant bartender
The pint is there
The pint is it
All else is simply decoration
Trinkets to be tossed aside
The pint?
The one essential
So how much did it cost?
I knew before I entered this familiar place
The price is incidental
But the value is surely priceless