At last, the time has come, a toast to our foes,
With skulls in hand, we'll drink and strike our pose.
But hold on a moment, let's not get too bold,
For these skulls, my friend, are not what they're told.
Each one takes five days, a labor of toil,
Carved and molded by Wylie, with sweat and with oil.
A replica of a real skull, so grand,
Cast in resin pure, by Wylie's own hand.
But beware, dear friends, lest you should forget,
These skulls are for drinking, but don't you fret.
The inside's coated, safe for your drink,
Tested with liquid, up to the brink.
But remember, my friend, don't be a fool,
These skulls aren't meant for the dishwasher's cool.
Nor the microwave's heat, nor your pet's playful chew,
Stick to your drinks, and your enemies few.