Lighters flick
and ice cooler chills,
as the jukebox tunes
die with a slow slow thirst
to cleanse these souls,
your soul old man,
with that grime, rot rock'¦
'¦n' roll.

Seems there's no more quarters
to feed the machine.
No more money to waste
on tunes that never really satisfy.
Just enough green
for another beer here
to make the world tilt sideways,
as you walk straight into
an unreality dried from tears
and assembly lines
of mass produced fears.

Never much blue
in the skies of your days.
Sun unshines blindly, extinguished
with counterfeit promises of
holiday bonuses never seen'¦
Same as union contractors, huh?

Blue collar strife
giving you the shakes.
Getting paid minimum rage.
Unfair for twenty plus years of
ball busting labor, minus lunch breaks,
missing a life, your child, and your wife.

Never enough cash
to afford the luxuries.
Just enough for gas
to work, to bar'¦
'¦back home most nights.
And way too much nicotine smoked

up in this bar and
in that corner,
as I sit and drink,
same as you,
myself reflected in this quarter.
This song's on me.
This song's for you.

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