Quarters
The tavern where you worked

Was cold and dark as a cavern

You kept quarters in your shirt

But I never could just have them

You always made me sweep around every fly and floozie

Under booths and bums asleep

Waking up they'd ask you who's he

Behind a glass without a glance

My daughter's boy you would say

Well I stood there in a trance

Listening to the jukebox play