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A Gambler's Galore
The piano sax shines so bright
The Jazz man plays throughout the night
The whiskey sits so silently
Barmen serving a booker's shot
Whilst good men die and liars not
And cigarettes burn so violently
The trilby man with a pinstripe suit
With heads and clubs he tries to loot
And the chips of life are gambled
Dead man's hand with a walking stick
In the face of Mrs. Slick
His apple eye so green and rambled
His misery mixed with ecstasy
The mirror screams of vanity
And bourbon soaks the final gold
The dead man cries no tears of sorrow
For life will be the same tomorrow
And only bourbon sees him fold
