It’s hard on you my dear,
Always on the move and working fulltime,
Carding young people swimming in beer,
Or choking on the lime.
You look exhausted my love,
As you dart from edge to edge of your cage, so tiny.
You hook another customer 21 and above,
On bad karaoke and an apple martini.
This job doesn’t pay enough my darling,
To be extra sweet when a tipper flashes a few Jacksons.
This poor fella knows you can be more charming,
And I don’t have half as many funds.
You’re worth more to me than these barflies my pet,
I’m not just boasting to the pool junkies that I’m lucky,
‘Cause when the last call is shouted, I don’t fret,
Seeing as you are coming home with me.