In a rat-hole
honky-tonk he sat
Smoke rings
billowing up over
the bartender as he
popped another cap
And wiped the top
with a well worn rag
His eyes followed
her as she walked in
Her brown waist-
length hair competing
with her long
tanned legs for attention
And he stood up and
reached in his pocket
He ambled over
through the smoky haze
Held out his
quarter and quietly said
it's old but that
mellow jukebox still plays
And they danced to
every Ray Price song
How old are you he
hinted in her ear
As his warm breath
held her captive
she whispered I
turned twenty-nine this year
And they danced
long after the jukebox stopped.
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