Ten-dollar drinks are served to chase away loneliness
Made-up dolls, skin tight, see-through clothed hostess
The owner likes better the “alcoholic” girls,
they can down cheap wine and not hurl
He will arrange for girls to come in vans
from Brooklyn to Long Island
to provide an illusion of a love lasting
Past the empty bottom glasses and shallow lives
men with callous hands, soft hearts and kitchen knives
living to work and not working for any pleasures,
while mortified fat cat bosses accumulate more treasures
Odd jobs off the books, wiring money through Western Union
Back home for the family and the new house extension
Peddling affection and cuddles by the drink
As vultures wait for drunks around the rink
In this sick dog-eat-dog world
No one escapes pain as it unfurls
Even the happy hostess swallows her pride
Nor her Jesus Christ cross on her cleavage can’t hide
There are no winner or whiners
Only the temporary satisfaction of a one nighter
And perhaps a little STD,
When compared to AIDS no one can see
It’s a decadent story always repeated
The flesh of the immigrant is defeated
Whether it’s disguised as a bar, brothel or massage parlor
The daunting fear of loneliness is worse than these squalors
that is adapted and accepted in a normal manner,
where sex for money is displayed on a banner
DIRKWOJTCZACK
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