I lost my money to some dirty old bookie
Way up in Philly, he was a bad man
But you can’t bet your life on the table
When you’ve got yourself a bad hand
So I went and got my good friend, Mickey
And we made ourselves a bold stand
Wound up bleedin’ on the bar floor
And we don’t bet on ball no more
Where the bets are tough and bartenders mean
The Great American Bar Scene
My brother from Tulsa has got himself a warrant
But he’s on the run up in Cheyenne
They hemmed me up and asked me some questions
But I ain’t no damn rat, man
Put cuffs on so tight, he started bleedin’
From his wrist down through to his right hand
Put “State Trooper” on the record machine
The Great American Bar Scene
Neon lightin’ and wooden floors lightly
As her feet quietly slide across
Tough boys have all came and went
She’s a heaven-sent, and I’m at a loss
So if you’ve got the time, I’ve got the quarter
And a two-steppin’ song called, “Hey, Porter!”
Why’s love always feel like a fever dream
In The Great American Bar Scene?
My heart stays hurtin’, and hands stay workin’
And I’m still just a sinnin’ man
I’ve tried like hell to keep my health
Treat others well and understand
While life’s unfair, uncertain, and mean
In The Great American Bar Scene
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