red and i met at the bar
i helped him lumber out of his pick-em-up truck
once a hulking monster of a strong man...
red was a pale, bent over geezer now
shuffling along with a cane
a three ball, screwed to the top of it
a good weapon (i said to him)
and by-god, he is a year younger than me
and that saddens and scares the shit outta' me
but i remember the old days
and how we were the ruling dogs
in taverns all over chicagoland
so we sat down, with some difficulty at the bar
and some young dogs asked us to move
'cause they had some friends coming
and we did it without complaint
then some other young sons-a-bitches asked us to move
and we did again
and i saw the pain in red's face
the third time was the charm
and i looked at the young bastard
and said, "look sonny, we already moved two times,
and i'll be damned if i move for the likes of you another time...
and if you don't like it, we can take it outside,
yah goofy bastard, you!"
and the young guy, (all of thirty)...
looked into my wild eyes
and thought better of it.
and there red sat...silently laughing
and i'm watching his big shoubders heaving up and down
laughing in their faces
gripping his cane with those big paws
ready to strike
and i hadn't seen him smile like that for a long time
and we settled into our burgers
and red even had some shots with his beers
and it was like we had dialed in the past
and it was a good day
old miners, dozer operators, tough guys we were
and still were today
even if we were lucky