This place has really gone to shit
and the people with it,
The carpet is stained with vomit
and trace amounts of boogers,
All the ticket machines stop and sputter
till death do us part,
The games are boring lackluster
filler machines that the best arcades donate
because whoever chooses to buy them is
mentally retarded or dealing with post-traumatic
stress and can't handle the decision,
The parents who bring their kids to the arcade
give them one token
Just one,
And I who no doubt came prepared with a bucket
of the shiny crap riddled tender will be offered up to slaughter,
They come out of the shadow and put their lonley token in
to the same machine my son's playing,
The same machine that I was trying to hide that it was in fact...
multiplayer,
The kid puts his only golden chance of fun in
and in a heart beat dies,
He looks at me,
He looks at all the tokens I have,
All the tokens I have amassed
and he has the gall to say,
"Why geeeee mister, You got a lot of tokens"
Don't you dare,
I am not your benefactor,
I am not the one who squirted you out,
You ain't about these tokens,
I am not your father
I've had the food if that's what we are to
label it,
It's basically a circular peice of cardboard with cheese
and meats
and vegetables god forbid,
that's the option or if you're truely a
gambling man then the salad bar is also open
When I was a child this place seemed down right magical,
I believed I could be the coolest kid on the block
if I could just capture an ounce of this place,
That damn mouse costumed man who I'm sure
was whichever employee drew the short straw that day,
He was holding a sign that said,"Dance for tickets"
Little kids all stood around him dancing as he threw tickets,
I was the only one standing in shock,
It's a strip show!
Here
Your children are dancing around this mouse man
like he's a friggin pole and he's tossing tickets at them!
Currencey of the establishment!
He's turning our children into whores and you're all
grabbing your god damn camera phones and filming it
so you can send it to aunt Margaret or Poppa Joe cause
it's sooooo funny!
It makes me sick
The vomit on the carpet?
I'm starting to feel as if it's from guys like me,
Guys who have started out here and then grew up
to see the circus degrade
collapse even,
The animatronic part of the room is a barren wasteland,
A last remnant of the early 90's clashing with modernism,
Only birthday parties are faced with the horror that is, The Show!
They belt out the "Hits"
The monkey on the piano smiles forever
and the bird dancing has been doing the same two step since
I was shitting in my pants at the older kids who picked on me,
These are the most formative years of their lives and were
presenting them with this,
We,
You,
I,
Should be ashamed
and drunk,
Let us be drunk
