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The Brewer |
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A brewer spends about a month |
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perfecting his beer thoughts. |
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A recipe to please the mass – |
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it’s all he’s ever sought! |
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Dark beers are just enjoyed by few; |
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the light ones have no taste; |
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no, amber is the trendy choice, |
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so amber’s what he’ll make. |
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The maltiest of tasty beers |
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has two-row as its base. |
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He’ll color it with Munich grains |
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and car’mel, just a trace! |
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To bitter he’ll use hallertau, |
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then secret hops he’s grown |
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will add aroma to his drink |
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and make the beer his own. |
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And yeast! He can’t forget the yeast, |
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his magic little friends. |
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A hundred billion hungry lives |
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will dine in great suspense. |
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On brewing day he buys supplies. |
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He outlines his grand plan. |
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He weighs out grains, turns on the heat, |
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and washes tools by hand. |
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He steeps the specialty malt bill |
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in his five-gallon pot – |
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one hundred fifty-two degrees |
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for twenty minutes clocked. |
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The two-row extract measured out |
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will make the wort grow thick. |
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Now stir in the fermentables |
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until they’re nice and mixed. |
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To bitter his progressing beer |
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the first hops now are due. |
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The others are for flavoring |
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his wonderful craft brew. |
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When sixty minutes finally pass |
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the boil will be done. |
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Then rapid cooling must take place |
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lest an infection comes. |
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The last step that the brewer takes |
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will be to pitch the yeast. |
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The starving little creatures dive |
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into their mighty feast. |
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Two weeks go by in perfect heat; |
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degrees are well maintained. |
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The airlock lets some bubbles through |
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as C-O-2 escapes. |
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Then bott’ling day arrives in haste, |
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and carbonation starts. |
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The amber ale will be sublime – |
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a sum of all its parts. |
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On tasting day he cannot wait! |
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He opens one with skill. |
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He takes a tentative test sip |
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and spits out horrid swill. |
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The taste is off, the flavor sour. |
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The yeast had made it gross! |
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A man controls so many things, |
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but life acts on its own. |