The Gobshite

Preamble: This really happened to my younger brother (Subject to the usual poetic hyperbole) He was the quiet little man! The red faced gobshite left the pub and was never seen again ;-)
 
A quiet little man sat at the bar  
Peacefully enjoying a drink from his jar  
In came a fellow with drink was half gone  
Looking for someone to foist himself on  
“In my day when I was brought up as a kid  
Lads just did what their own fathers did”  
 
“If yer dad was a miner yer went down the mine  
We all knew our places and the country was fine  
If yer dad was a baker yer learned t’ make bread  
Fancy ideas were knocked out of yer head”  
He went on and on singing the praise  
Of what things were like in the far good old days  
 
Seemed he wanted attention from all in the room  
Shouting and spouting he loudly did boom  
Proclaiming the virtues of years gone by  
All forced to hear him wanted to cry  
They shrank in their seats praying for death  
Wishing this bastard would run out of breath  
 
So bored was the little man drinking his beer  
He just wanted this bugger to get out of here  
Suffering more of this fellow filled him with dread  
But then an idea popped into his head  
“Oh I see” he smiled brightly “so if I understand right  
I’d guess that your father was a fat mouthed gobshite”