I tread carefully through the grass,
trying not to disturb the tramps on the bench that I pass,
and I breathe silently, because all I have got, isn't alot,
and stealthily I sneak past,
not wanting them to ask me for anything,
and not wishing for anything to be asked,
and I bemoan my miserly fate,
and I bemoan my current state,
because all I have is twenty-three dollars in my wallet,
and someone is supposed to pay me at sunset,
but they'll probably pass,
and although money's tight,
I'm going out tonight,
and I'm gonna have a barrel of laughs,
and I am gonna drink lots of gin,
and fill the night with sin,
and not care about anything,
because I am going to be with my friends again,
and about money I won't give a rat’s ass,
no, I won't,
because we help each other out,
and today my wallet is rather flat and empty,
but they'll help out,
and how I'll laugh,
and talk about money schemes,
and hopes and dreams,
and old memories,
and chat up Lucy at the bar,
like I usually do,
and she, she will look at me,
and let me buy her a drink,
and she will tolerate me for a while or two and then be gone,
and I will be back with my friends,
bemoaning to them,
that no she still doesn't love like I wish that she would do,
and the night will pass,
with as many drinks as I can manage, until I can barely walk,
and the stars have gone to bed,
and there is a rampage throbbing in my head,
and I'll wake, and I will have forgotten all that I have said,
and I will drink copious amounts of coffee,
and eat jam and bread,
and spend the day wasting away in my bed,
and then, in the evening I will start again,
drinking, talking, and thinking with my friends,
and hopefully by then I will have made some money,
or been paid back the money owed,
and then, I will rest easy, yes, I will,
and how glad the working week I will be to forget,
because it hasn't done much for me yet,
and here I am, with nothing but grateful for small mercies,
and grateful for the good company of my friends.
