This could be the last beer I ever drink
It would have to be in a 6 a.m. barfly joint
And I would have to be catching a Greyhound in an hour

Why can’t I just stay here forever
With a full pack of cigarettes,
Money to tip Harry, Patsy Cline on the jukebox,
No pawn tickets, no good woman, no one under 65 allowed

Here it wouldn’t matter if my teeth weren’t
What they used to be and my clothes were out of style
There’d be a goodhearted whore who’d suck my dick for free,
There’d be no hangovers, no shit jobs to lose, no disappointed family
And like I said, no good woman to chip away at ‘til she was bad like me

Here they wouldn’t even be hinted at
There’d be 17 ancient fools and me
They’d have all the answers; I’d have no questions
Every day would be check day; no one ever wakes up broke
There’d be racing forms, Cuban cigars, and everybody’s horse always wins by a nose

Yeah, there’d be a good fist fight once in a while, but nobody gets hurt
They’d just slug it out and wear the black eyes proudly
While they tipped a beer and shook hands

Sure, the world would still go on outside
Buses would still carry the stiffs off to work,
Yuppies would still pay $4.75 for white wine spritzers,
Cops would still round up the homeless and put ‘em in jail
While the crack dealers ate steak and lobster

The preachers would still have church on Sunday
There’d still be young couples in love,
Unable to let go of each other’s hands as they strolled at leisure
And the sun dipped into the Pacific Ocean with an all-knowing wink

There’d still be soon-dead bodies doing swan dives off the Golden Gate Bridge at Christmas,
But there wouldn’t be any of that in Harry’s place
Not while the booze was flowing like a hot air balloon over the wide open spaces of America,
And Patsy Cline whispered sweet nothings in your ear