Augie March

Song In The Key Of Chance

In the chest of a dealer hammers

And smelts a foul charge

As he smoothes sour cream from his moll's pony

And metes her an unholy barrage

(O, the living is hard)

Of a rank Summer Saturday here

Drunk on domestic beer

The burnt English girls bray like mares

The men leer like snakes

O, there's no faith in this article, baby

No truth and no lie, lie, lie, lie

I woke up one morning and it lay there beside me

It wasn't for me to ask why

But to reason with a dry mouth and a half-open eye

Some people weren't born to dance

While others are halted mid-step to the beat

Of a song in the key of chance

Make one sickening body

Born of a base urge and a high mind

And make it swing like a witch

Wealthy young men, hale tall timber

Who dally in the Spring time then steady in the Winter

While over the river, with needles for teeth

The spindle and stick men, apportioned a grief

Take to drink and drown, drown

O, the stories I love and the stories I hate

The city horses are tired, give them something to drink

Take the weight of the wagon from off of their shoulders

And the iron from their feet

At the top of the morning, top, top, top of the street

Is a look when you look, look, look

Look into somebody's eyes and you meet

Is a look when you look, look, look, look into somebody's eyes

And you know that they'd just as soon kill you as smile