Where There's Bud There's Death

Our native tribesmen can’t hold booze
As try we do (though far from all).
Metabolism they don’t choose—
Absorbing poorly alcohol—
Their Asian forebears brought as trait
Across an ice-jammed Bering Strait.

Temptation, on the other hand,
We pray not to be led into.
And yet right next to tribal land
Belonging to Oglala Sioux,
On which the sale of liquor’s barred,
Nebraskan rectitude is tarred.

In White Claw, population 10,
Four stores on average every day
Sell thirteen thousand beers, so when
They’re asked to stop. They say no way.
They’d racially discriminate.
Oh right! Wrongdoing that they’d hate.

Drunk men and women everywhere,
Their kids both born and unborn wronged
State legislators show no care
As though their loyalty belonged
To how Anheuser-Busch eschews
The fact that Bud as death is news.