Thom Forbes

Yo my homeys
Read my lips
I got me here
Ten bucks in chips.

Laid out right
In front of youse
You see no whites
Just greens, reds, blues.

Why that is
I couldn't say;
Well, I could
But it ain't my way.

I show no hands
And live to bluff
If you don't like it
Well, that's just tough.

The piles I make
I just adore
Until I knock them
On the floor

Just gimme a Scotch
Or a glass of beer
And things get fuzzy,
Chips disappear.

I win a bit
But not enough
The boys I play with
Make it rough.

I'd like to go
Each night 'til 5
But I play with punks
Full of jive.

"I've got to work,"
They bitch and moan
For Thom and Bob
It's a downright drone.

Tell you what
My homeboy chumps
You better get ready
To take your lumps

See you Wednesday
At Professor Pete's
For that is where
The Cronies meets.