Ginocide

Back in the Twenties, a thirsty public
Filed into the speakeasies and roared,
“Give us a drink – Uncle Sam won’t tell us
What to do!” So the bathtubs became stills
Where juniper berries, grain alcohol,
And a lot of nerve became bathtub gin.
The patrons drank, and many became still,
The noxious concoction silencing roars
That dying to drink was worth dying for.
Such happy hours caused Uncle Sam to take
A more temperate approach to buzzkill.