We hashers all go by fake tags,
To hide from the world and its nags.
No class and no rank,
Just beer in the tank,
And everyone welcome - no drags.

On websites we’re careful, you see,
No nerd names, no mugshots, no plea.
We’re crude and we’re loud,
But still hash as a crowd—
Inclusive, from geek to queen bee.

This playground’s for grown-ups, all right,
With vulgar and filthy delight.
No drama, no hate,
Just piss-takes and fate,
And roasting your ass without spite.

Bring kiddos if that’s what you do,
But know they’ll hear “cock,” “balls,” and “poo.”
We cackle and moon,
Sing filth to a tune,
And puke in the shrubbery too.

Consent is the hottest of laws,
Get “yes” before groping some draws.
We’re raunchy, not pricks,
So keep to the script—
A “no” means you holster your claws.

If you’re pissed, don’t go driving insane,
Your license and life down the drain.
Call Uber or mate,
Or crash at the gate—
Tomorrow we’ll hash once again.