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You're in the pub at half past ten, the money for the |
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Cure all spent again, |
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Trying to figure out who's carrying and where they'll |
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Be that day |
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Forget about the night before when you were flying for |
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An hour or more |
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And move across to the Central Bar hoping that you'll |
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SeeOne of them hard cases, soft faces, who grip you with |
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Their deadly smile, |
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The grip it slowly tightens and the grin gets slowly |
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Deeper |
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And beads of perspiration stand out upon your |
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Cadgilation |
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Someone takes the pressure off and calls out more |
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Porter |
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Soon enough the tap runs dry and the afternoon goes |
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Slowly by |
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The Barman looks on warily as your mates come drifting |
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In |
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Someone says there's a session on, a tarnished bard has |
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Just hit town |
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Move across to the Widows; see if you can rustle up the |
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Entrance fee fromA woman you know buys you your last and the evening |
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Goes flashing past |
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Bridie's screaming as your eyeing the slops behind the |
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Bar |
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The party crowd is gathering, the banjo, fiddle and |
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Mandolin |
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The cider flagon hunt is on, if you haven't got a |
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Tosser |
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Won't you bring along a dozen of... |
