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