He just sits with that cigarette dripping from his crusty mouth, waiting for the time to yell his songs at you. You got any idea what that mouth must taste like, inside? There's been more bad booze and cheap sex and thousands of packs of smokes and bad burritos and black coffee poured into that dank hole than you'll ever know about.

He's not too fond of you.

In fact, he'd watch you die for a quarter. But since you're probably going to live through this show, he just wishes you would sit quietly and shut the fuck up. He'll start singing as soon as he finishes that glass and that cigarette. Well, maybe he'll keep the cigarette.

Piano intro.

"All my friends are married
Every Tom and Dick and Harry
You must be strong
If you're to go it

Alone . . . . "

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