Turf The Gambler

Poor old Turf the Gambler

He was a friend of mine

Crashed upon the pavement by the Beast

We'd been playing poker, of course, and drinking wine

When we heard his soul had been released

We glued him back together and passed a hat around

Paid to have it stitched above his bed

Embroidered words he'd spoken would greet his tired eyes

When he awoke, transfixed but not dead

Poor old Turf the Gambler

And now he tells his tale

And shows his scars from here to Hollywood

To waitresses and actresses and princes who preside

Over everything you thought was gone for good

Poor old Turf the Gambler