Yes, I told you, to mess with me will be
like dancing with the devil, you see I’ve
died a thousand lives over, every time my
fists bled from overuse, down at this bar
called The One and Two.
Take old Bill over there, he used to be
the drunk who beat up his woman, kicked
them, spat on their souls, he came here
with evil one night to take me on, he now
has gained total respect for who he called
the weaker sex.
I told him there is no weaker sex, its all in
man’s perception, I wrestled a bear once
and let me tell you, respect was shown,
fur flew, blood spilled, but we both gave
in and crawled to our corners with
You see a brawl is something that every
man deep inside wishes for, but only a
few will dare take that road, many more
will brag about it, never once lifting a
fist, wishing they had the balls to do so,
but that takes true grit.
Many a John Wayne’s want to be until
the crunch, I stood back to back one
night in here, with mean old Leroy Brown,
and him and I laid the hammer down,
taking on those clowns who brag about
their toughness all over town.
I always carry a spare white tee shirt in
my trunk, you see, they turn into rags,
torn and scuffed with the blood from
bar room scuffs.
A white tee I wear with pride, my cigarette
pack tightly folded inside, ready for the
next fellow who wants to be a hero, and
lift his fists from his side, to smack down
on my face with his boots buried in my sides.
I’ve lived this life in the past and
sometimes had my ass kicked, but never
ever backing down, for nobody who
wants to prove to me that they are a
somebody better be ready for a back
The One and Two club is that place
where you were frisked before entering,
they want a clean fight, not a shooting
or a stabbing, but it happened, they
came out of nowhere at times and a
life went where it often belonged, to
Hell where the brawls never end.
© Copyright Vincent Moor. All Rights Reserved.