A tower of liquid, a cyclone of drink, guiding the flow to the edge of the brink.

If I don't fit you must acquit! If I do shame on me.

I should fit in your pocket, but I'm more likely to swing and jingle.

A little shake, a fiery flair, I sit with salt most everywhere.

Find me in caves Along with my brother Don't mix up our names We're not one another We may both be sharp And hard to recall I'm surely the best And above it all