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Sometimes when I’ve had a few, and just can’t get my bearings,
I end up lost on some back street, under my breath I’m swearing,

I’m sure it’s here but now it’s gone, I feel like such a loser,
Standing blankly on the street coz someone’s moved the boozer.

It’s must be here, it has to be, pubs simply cannot move,
It’s not like something tiny or like something you can lose,

But guess again in Manchester, where rules don’t resonate,
Where the pubs are known to up their sticks and sometimes relocate.

If trying to map a boozer then really heed advice,
Coz the Wellington and the Oyster bar have moved not once but twice,

One the oldest pub in town once from a Medieval Street,
But both twice moved completely just like they’d both grown feet.

For when they built the Arndale, to make the area neater,
They had to raise these boozers up by just over a meter,

And then again when the bomb went off in nineteen ninety six,
They had to lift those buildings up and move them both in bits.

They had to move them brick by brick, each piece of timber, every tile,
It really was a mammoth task and took them quite a while,

They stood side by side for all those years but now form Shambles Square,
Three hundred meters, up the road, winched up and through the air.

They moved ten thousand pieces of each pub through the air,
Replicating tobacco stains and signs of wear and tear,

So when you don’t know which pub is where, don’t take drunken gambles,
And don’t rule out the pubs that moved or the story of the Shambles,

Protected medieval history from an era long ago,
If you’ve never seen the Shambles then I suggest that you should go.

But please don’t trust your instinct and get a map that’s up to date,
Coz if those pesky pubs have moved again you’ll end up being late.

Copyright©2011 by Phil Martin