Quarters
The tavern where you worked
Was cold and dark as a cavern
You kept quarters in your shirt
But I never could just have them
You always made me sweep around every fly and floozie
Under booths and bums asleep
Waking up they'd ask you who's he
Behind a glass without a glance
My daughter's boy you would say
Well I stood there in a trance
Listening to the jukebox play