Distortion
We’re a God-awful small affair
In the bar of the grime-brown Goat.
The devil with the coal-black hair
Blows smoke through a hole in his throat.
I’m sorry, you haven’t a prayer
The rules of the game he rewrote.
Take your cue and fracture the pack
But the game is a frightening bore
Odds of evens to clear the rack
He’s cheated you ten times before
He’ll bring his hand down on your back
And rescue you from the soiled floor.
Don’t wager your very last cent
Watch him spit in the eyes of fools
And be warned that the cards are bent
Drinks on the house as a rule.
Your hand-earned dollars better spent
On books rather than cards or pool.
If they find aces up your sleeve
Don’t deal from the base of the pack
They’ll politely ask you to leave,
You’ll bust the flush of one-eyed Jack
The sleight of hand you’ll disbelieve
Takes practice to acquire the knack.
A dime in the slot of the box
No dancing on tables and chairs
Choose from Elvis or old-time rock
Upsets the ashtrays and glasswear
Time, gentlemen, please, now take stock
You shouldn’t have blown your bus fair.
Just three more beers, guv, on the slate
I’ll stick at three, not one more drop –
My pussy waits with bowl and plate
Welcome home with a belly flop.
My salvation is somewhat late,
We all might learn one day to stop. [2013]
[cf. David Bowie’s Life on Mars:
It's a God-awful small affair
To the girl with the mousy hair …
But the film is a saddening bore
For she's lived it ten times or more
She could spit in the eyes of fools …]