I can sleep it off,

Sleep it back to sleep,

I can be most anything I want.

A long way from the shade,

The north side of the moon.

Down here only rich men lose their shirts.



And John Law wakes to sweep,

The morning off the street,

But no one cares if he has done his job.

And postcards never came,

From race tracks by the sea.

From a gambler who says: