Billy’s working that Tilt-A-Whirl.
But his plans are grand.
If it weren’t for his mother’s druthers,
he’d be playing in the sand.
But that’s another story-
for someone else’s time,
‘Cause Billy’s pushing forty,
His needs are less sublime.
The two young’ns screaming,
Aren’t screaming for his dreams.
And the brew in left hand, leaning,
Won’t bring him cash in reams.
So he’ll drop those deeply wanting thoughts,
And he’ll pull levers, long after dark.
He’ll bury those precious ‘forget-me-nots’,
And sell himself, to the life of the park.
Just another day, until dyin’ time. An. Other. Day.