I travel 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 flying floozy

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