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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
i deal within the realm of the currency of words -
words are my currency; sure, you can throw coinage
into the affair, or what i'd prefer to be called:
the gambler's cauldron, the days when history
is not built through will and outside the casino...
these days are built through
chance (luck) and outside the church...
    wasn't ever attending
the church the biggest gamble?
was theology,
ever not inclusive of the notion
of gambling?
   atheists don't gamble,
they have no notion of chance...
they lack the adrenaline junk
bound to adrenaline...
    immobile senile *******
and they know it!
   atheism will not attract
as much emotional concerns
to upset the stance of apathy,
only because atheism has
no degenerate attitude of
capitalism, which is gambling...
come on! people love to gamble!
the more wealth they amount
and can no longer see any use
for it... they won't invest it in others:
they'll waste it! they'll gamble it
away!
   atheism feeds no idea supportive
of gambling...
    even in the dialectical medium:
one side says:
    i know that i don't know,
   but how can you be certain
  that you know?
likewise: i know that i know,
but how can you be certain
          that i don't know?
   theology has so much of gambling
inviting its scarred hearts
and inhibited ambitious ones...
     people talk of western civilisation,
but what talk is there is
western communism,
          serious communism?
people only understand the capital,
and the gamble with it...
          better to gamble,
than to become philanthropic...
             i've never seen days where
money is so squandered...
but you might as well
   throw pebbles into the whole
dynamic,
  wishing for a philosopher's
   stone to come from the other side...
pascal's wager is alive and well...
    atheism can't fathom a worthy reply...
what can atheism provide for
the gambler?
      what's to gamble for?
   what gamble does atheism provide?
pascal? he was smart enough to explain
the human dynamic of a thrill...
   people are adrenaline junkies...
they do un-imaginable feats of danger,
can't theology equal that,
  on a microscopic level or slight deviations
of felt emotions?
     people gambled, gamble,
and will continue to gamble,
  simply because the idea of money is
so limited that it had to fill the vacuum of its
existence with both gambling, & communism...
how can atheism usurb pascal's wager
when atheists can't stop people gambling?
what is the atheistic wager?
      is there a worthy gamble?
     this is why people become so heated
in the theological dynamo...
             they become a tsunami,
a tornado, a hurricane...
             simply because atheism has no
gambling dynamic invoked...
    there's no god, death is certain,
what is there to gamble with?
another hour of a boring stalemate sunday
before the next working week begins?
that's not even a gamble!
           people need to gamble!
  please... please...
you have nothing for the theological gamble...
atheists have no sweet scented nectar
of an argument...
   no dubious fickle state of emotional
turmoil...
                    atheism is just another
boring framework of "revised" boredom...
        say to to people who gamble,
no one in this world wants to live a certain
life,
       and die with a certain truth...
                there's always the quest for
potential, for uncertainity, for adventure...
     atheism is probably the worst assertion of science...
man is born into the certainity of existence,
but lives, and wishes to die
            into / with the uncertainty of essence...
i.e. was war ever essential?
     was love ever the sole purpose of explanation
and worth the crown of above all explanations?
       man is in this affair a quasi-specimen
of the civilised typos...
      strange affair:
             he is alone, the natural world's typo,
rather than the kin of monk chimp & anzzy...
  i find it as follows:
  it will be hard to relieve theology of
the gambler...
                        and therefore gambling itself,
as a worthwhile invitation for
universal socialist philandering with
                   philanthropy...
as i find it as follows:
    atheism is no place for gambling,
   even it be as eloquent as the gambling
of pascal...
                      i suppose atheism does
hold the joker hand of gambling:
   an actual end of gambling,
   and a return to communism,
  whereby gambling is replaced by utopian
philanthropy...
                   here's your god.
Josey  Jun 2019
Cards
Josey Jun 2019
I like to gamble
I play blackjack on my phone sometimes
It’s easy that’s why I like it
Not many rules but still a game of chance
But I’m 15
So it’s sort of illegal for me to gamble
only by 3 years
But when I was ***** I was 13
So the age of consent 3 years away
All the same
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll stay home from school
With no rhyme or reason
Just depression of the season
But I won’t text any of my friends
for the first few classes of the day
That way I can see their responses
And see if they wonder if I’m ok
My mom doesn’t ask question
Just a tear or two
And new hairdo
Doesn’t seem to grab her attention
I like to gamble
One time I dyed my hair red to black ombré
And came home with a belly button ring
It took her a week to notice the new color
And she still hasn’t noticed the metal
She hasn’t noticed the scars either
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll steal alcohol from the liquor cabinets of my home
And I’ll sneak out my window and into my friend's car
I like to gamble
Standing on the edge of a tall building
The wind blowing through my hair
And down my spine making me shiver
Wondering what would happen if I were to just move an inch
Wishing I would just move an inch
I like to gamble
But I’m not very good at it cards, money it’s all the same
Alcohol, death it’s just a game
Maybe if I quit it won’t save
And I could start a whole new level
Get rid of the pain
Because I like to gamble
with life and death
Because it’s worth as much as the money on my phone
Coins that you’ll never hear clang
It’s just a game
I like to gamble
Sometimes I won’t take my medicine
Just to see how much it changes
The feelings it exchanges
For depression
I don’t like taking it to friends houses
Because they can see me swallow my happiness
It’s not something I’m proud of
I like to gamble
One time I had a thought about poking a hole in a ******
That my boyfriend and I were about to use
Just to see if next month I would bleed
Just to see if a month from that day I would walk up to him
And say
Congratulations
A new pediatrics patient
I like to gamble
But I’ve played all my cards
I stare at the dealer
Like I’m staring at the stars
In wonder and awe
Confused and deranged
Isn’t it strange
How a game holds so much sway
But the only thing I don’t like about the game
Is the steep price I have to pay
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
i don't have the patience to gamble...
i couldn't sit there and tempt fate...
or predestination -
make a joke from karma -
but i'll somtimes make a quid's buckle
worth better spent nonetheless
spent on a bet...
i heard this metaphor before...
but apparently it's new...
the bet? well... either the home team
wins... or the away team wins...
but both teams need to score...
it's a quid... i had the most joy
finding a 20 quid banknote on
the pavement once...
that too was a "bet" regarding where
and at what speed i was walking...
i don't gamble...
i don't gamble on horses...
i don't gamble on dogs...
the odds are... as always the same
plateau of odds...
a bit like attempting to catch
a mosquito by the testicles wearing
boxing gloves
...
elephant memory:
i know these words are not mine...
but... for the time being:
they must be mine...
i don't gamble because i don't like
to make a summary of karma:
this cosmic wind of causality as merely:
best be entertained by a gamble...
i don't gamble because...
i could never make it into a habit...
i could never attempt to find
a needle in a haystack...
sooner i'd be willing to catch
a breath of the wind while running
naked with a flute to hear
the flute resound with my breath being
missing...
eh... forget the flute... running
naked with a half-empty bottle
of cider... at the right angle...
i'll catch the wind playing its first
musical instrument!
why didn't i find fun in driving a car?
i would prefer a bicycle -
and a horse -
i never found fun in gambling...
flipping a coin and calling: heads or tails
was always more fun...
i never liked chess - i never warmed
up to it... draughts... sudoku... backgammon
and mahjong...
poker... a game of chess is hardly
intuitive... it's not: heir-sein...
it's such a detached monstrosity of...
labyrinths...
you can't make a mistake in the present -
and in the same present correct it -
since there's the narrative -
the cascade - i'd sooner be bound to reading
a book...
i don't own a car... because i don't mind
taking the bus...
although i'd settle for a bicycle and i'll still
dream about a horse...
gambling... to have to devaule cosmic concepts
akin to karma -
no grand yawn from the depths
on my behalf... this same old same old:
same mediocre...
middleground, haystack claimed this
body beyond any to come
anticipations from Everest...
this life that eventually has to become
an introspection...
and that's of course - minus what's sacrificed
on the altar of collective memory -
the other's whim of memory -
down the line... when only introspection
matters... and no one is really invited...
how sad it must be...
to have attempted certain feats in this life...
for... a yawn from the mountain
and a transient ref. point of some other
minding his journalistic integrity
of: duly noted?
it's not so much a "vanity project" critique...
but... i try to perfect the most basic
tasks... like rolling tobacco while walking...
something i can retain and invite myself
back into: from the devoid of self external
world...
to have ambitions akin to: climbing a mountain...
and what if that doesn't attract
journalistic voyeurism?
what then? apparently after the feat...
humanity as the mountain yawns or simply
ignores...
gambling... what is it, that's ncessarily "won"?
when all that's won... has to be...
gifted upon death's altar...
beauty, wisdom...
everything - imagine if death was corrupt...
and somehow allowed transactions
of future investements - akin to:
beside the two coins for charon -
a mummified body to add grit and wager!
death at a turkish bazar!
gamble or haggle -
beside: do we really need an opera house...
for someone to sing an aria?
i'm very much worried about: investing
in something - while at the same time -
finding to self-gratification in due process -
having to linger for third-party journalistic leeches
to make due summaries...
in the end... i don't really gamble...
1 quid a week...
on the already stated chances:
a bit like attempting to catch a mosquito by
the testicles wearing boxing gloves...
a world-wide renowed d.j. will earn
about 100,000 million a year...
i like being my own d.j. -
a tennis player will earn... this much...
but a ping-pong player... will only be seen
at the olympics...
tennis: a game of 7 rectangles and...
11 judges (enough for a football team)
and... 6 ball boys / girls...
and why would i even want more money?
spend it on what?
i'll buy a pair of shoes when the shoes
i'm wearing will start to wear down...
it seems that after a long enough time -
you: neither forget - nor unlearn the basic
propensity for spending money -
earning it very vague -
spending it is even more vague -
luxury items become: tacky -
there's a reason why champagne is champagne -
once tried: forever abhorred...
in terms of meat: it's not what meat it is...
it's how you cook it...
no good butchering an argentinian cut
of steak if you'll make: roast beef from it!
then again: i never liked spending money...
and... i never managed to acquire
the companionship of the opposite ***
that would otherwise spend it for me...
oops? i don't like restaurants because:
i much prefer to see myself wash my hands
before i start to prepare a meal...
on the topic of clothes...
i sometimes look at my cats...
the same furr - day in - day out -
why would i dress for a season - marry myself
to trends? that doesn't invite the accusation
that i do not wash myself -
or that i do not wash or iron my clothes -
why... bother fashion that's on a bigger whim
than the ******* weather?!
lately the price of books have gone up...
here's to me not buying a book -
vinyls... jazz vinyls are low...
10 quid a liquorice spin...
but this is nothing that could ever become
consolidated into a home -
but then i'm... too much into my routines...
and: i couldn't ever wish or want...
to keep up with keeping up appearances...
this apathy doesn't stem from a nihilism...
it stems from a depressive lethargy...
depressive lethargy is depression -
when it's not elevated to the romance of
melancholy... and "oh i'm sad"... oh oh...
no... i'm just tired of seeing the usual suspects
of keeping a life make-belief
succint informal casual convo. in a fish & chip
shop *******' worth of antics!
i can be polite to doctors...
oh hell: i'll charm them... they know the diagnosis...
but i'll be ultra polite... because...
i'm the one who will think about
biological cancer as botanical cancer: mistletow...
which it is... if you have ever seen
it in the wild...
i need a woman like i need an ulcer...
esp. the sort of woman that's a tapeworm
of transcendental a priori -
something that i'm "given" without prior
experience...
perhaps for men all women are: a priori specimen...
and for women... oh my god...
there's no a priori man...
there are only a posteriori... without the ability
to cut off a piece of time and themselves included
in it from the grand wheel of fortune and what's
to come: died within a year...
2 weeks after the death she shedded her
widowhood and became impregnated
by an already engaged man:
or some other wild old tale...
in bad, light?
oh... the time i realised that going to a brothel...
was not as rewarding as going
to a turkish barber shop?
that time... well... that moment is still alive
with me... i stopped going to a brothel
after i discovered the joys of...
having ones hair cut and one's beard trimmed...
is probably better than ***...
certainly better than *******...
as i always try to remind the 3rd party sources
of the moral highground argument...
believe me when i say that i don't mind
the dodo project - the cul de sac antics...
i'll the complete man -
although incomplete -
as i will not be a father, nor a grandfather...
hell.. my grandfather is ******* at me
that he didn't become a great-grandfather!
in terms of biological timing:
he should have become a great-grandfather!
does that make me any less or a lesser man
when: as a mortal man: i am to be wed
to - bride death?
Why take a chance to gamble, knowing everything could be lost?  Do you realize once it gets a hold on you, it will become your boss?
Why take a chance to gamble, knowing your money is to be used for bills?  Suddenly, you lose everything, now you're thinking about popping pills.
Why take a chance to gamble, dipping into your children college funds?  Now that you owe a mean man a debt; you're hiding and on the run.
Why take a chance to gamble, forgetting you have mouths to feed?  When will you get it into your head, that you really need to take heed?
Why take a chance to gamble, returning home without a dime?  Now you are angry at everyone, and you're about to lose your mind.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Ignatius Hosiana Feb 2016
He didn't listen hence he did stumble
He lost all his stake in one big gamble
For he called my advise mere mambo jambo
Till he finally saw the game end at an angle
for he no longer watched, his heart did rumble
He's now silent with regret and humble
for they who think they know the jungle
meet with uncertainty, and get eaten like mango
He lost all his stake in a giant gamble
chasing after the big win,the bundle
Now even in sleep all he does is mumble
his regret and stress, though he says he can handle
I see despair in him as hope does dangle
For the future's a locked door, a dark tunnel
After he lost all his stake in one big gamble
he wears gloom as beautifully as a bangle
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
sometimes you look at these people and think:
is it better me drinking whiskey, or is it better treating
them ontologically as zoological specimen
                                                  and worth of caging?
i think that the Aristotelian awe-principle
for the practice of philosophy was
overly-exaggerated with dues
that consider science, i think that science
confiscated the emotional
imprint of philosophy that's bound to awe
and said: willcommen unto die phobia-realm...
which i still ascribe to postcolonialism...
  the times' propaganda say:
             arachnophobia is perfectly suited
to match-up to a billionth remark of Islam,
which is why i find Islamophobia so weird...
   arachnophobia consists of only one spider...
minding the phobic in Islam?
                          it's not a case of one spider...
it's a case of spiders...
                             they can't reason with
the Big Brother opportunism, which exists...
turning the blind eye won't help...
  it will simply aggrivate such people...
and using this language has created such
frustrations... correctly? aggravate,
dance of vowels. phobias aren't big, they're small...
miniscule... tell people that something is
small when it's actually big enforcers
a postcolonial past more so...
   i see these children like the psychotic reaction
to a prophesy kindred ot Harold II's slaughter
of the innocents...
                  they're there to edorese someone...
      after all: who gives a **** about these people?
                                                         ­  (endorse)
the psychiatrist gets paid, the mental health nurse
gets paid... why would they give a **** in a way
that says: i wasn't paid for this bollocking!
  maybe up in Manchester... but down here in London,
they don't buy disguises, you're
labelled Romanian: you're bound home where
you could have been a plumber but are reduced
to a straitjacket because: some ******* said
you didn't **** her... Philip Collins and hey:
welcome to paradise.
                        down 'ere in Loon-town you get
your money's worth...      
                   i wish they took care of me...
   silence pays... you get your cringe's worth of ****
to the Kilimanjaro's worth of calling
               bottled crema-foam on a phallus
an anorexia... as i see it: anorexia in Freudian lingo
is an objection toward treating ****** artefacts
in culinary terms... means that paradox
of having a cake and eating it too...
                obviously you'll sexualise problems...
i think anorexia is a question of making
          ****** parts culinary aggregates...
                i'm not jotting: girl, aged, 16, ***-starved..
i mean in general... making ****** objects
equivalent toward a culinary status for a care
to make them more appealing in being ******...
the anorexic might start thinking: so i **** it,
and don't eat it?   penguin clap for an icecream cone!
ruffian yoga minus the slippers and the seal clapping...
the loudest revision of applause: i can guarantee....
cos the flippers were wet... hence the additional
aquatic acoustic.
                    this is very much akin to that quantum
theory of: tornado at coordinate a.,
         and a butterfly as coordinate b.,
          i can see anorexia as a substitute to sexualised
preferences in making body-parts partially edible...
            i see **** i think of the cow's ******-pouch / pillow...
    i don't know, maybe because being in my 30s
i can still fake arousal when looking at it...
       i am not the original alienist... some martian
took my title role...
          but i can understand anorexia as a way to rebel
against putting potato mash and a steak and a few
veggies with the same duty nod as one might put
a ******* object into one's mouth and having to
a Werther's Original suckling tactic on it and
never attach a bone to it, i.e. never eat it...
      anorexia by my standard is verily sexualised...
   you put something into an open space and
it's almost a trans-transgender movement...
      which is why i find the transgender "curiosities"
obstructs in art... post-transgender occupancies
           are not reserved for the easily pleased...
anorexics are such people...
             this is sexuality confused with dietary requirements...
this isn't a circumstance of pronouns politicised
and exploits of modern medicine...
                   i do tend to abuse seafood
whenever i am cringed by the suggested floral pattern
whenever i dare not see the benefits of cesarean...
and i just can't see islamophobia fitting the irrational
rationality of other conscripted phobias...
          poor choice of Greek to be honest...
                      i think they're referring to:
a subtler suggestion, minus the crusading empowerment
that's yet to be honed on...
                        well **** yeah...
once you've actually a philosophy book,
   you'll become immune to any writing advice...
                you'll actually become immune
to advice for writers.... bhy writers... because you'll
realise their opinions are disputable and therefore
disposable... because they forgot that the one thing
that democracy hates... is its subversion,
                     art is the foremost stealth-seeker of
despotism in democracy... because it simply loathes
plagiarism... art is despotism in democracy...
               and it knows it... it's just too "shy" (aah...
wee wee poo poo) to admit it...
                 from what i learned from athos?
the best advice? is to not give any advice.
                    athos? alex dumas, the three musketeers.
the moment you finish a philosophy book,
a creative writing workshop and a quote by
Hemingway will seems as nothing but a bad dream -
these quotes come from people who abhorred
the mere concept of spelling, due and through
it being an "inconvenience"...
this is from people who suggested you were always
an incapable narrator without a daydream to
escape into... these writers began sounding like
your english teachers...
              then again... is sexualising problem better
than abstracting them? personally, and
without due approval: and all the more happy for
such a circumstance having been presented for me...
            we know the sane are too numerous
because they are allowed to make too much sense
of their dreams...
                     i contend anorexia, not as an eating disorder,
but as a disorder of a culinary aversion toward
          sexualising non-culinary objects in culinary terms...
or adding cream to the phallus or melted chocolate
to the ****...
                 i find that certain culinary objects are
oversexualised...
   and this is the norm: that extends into what
quantifies as the norm, for the norm is always
a quantifiable parameter than a qualifiable
      exchange, since an exchange never appreciates
     a qualification, or a grocer's worth of norm
for a conversation of two quid's worth of earning
equates to 20 tomatoes...
    we have assumed to know it all
whereas we are congregating in a plughole
     of close proximity prefixes, i.e.
re-: reflect, reflection, reflexion, reflex,
  reiteration, reimagining, retraction, reaffirmation...
    it's a tsunami of language / lounging with too
many images... it's "lounging" with too many images...
it's the proximity of prefixes... twinned with
the opportunism of the genus of synonyms creating
a deaf-shaft of faking rhetoric...
     i still placard the whole circumstance
a dance of vowels, or the unforced deviation of
keeping up an aesthetic....
                     no, i can't claim schooling,
because i don't want to claim being indoctrinated...
     and perhaps my Freudian is a little-bit
copper-wired / ageist...
                  but isn't food for the anorexic
  a bit like turning a ****** object into food
          for the ennobled aggregational stereotype?
the jokes aren't jokes for anorexics...
  the cucumber is doubly manifest
                         as both edible, as both sexually
arrogant... and thirdly as "inspiration" for
an architectural project...
                      oh **** fame... little albino blondie
can **** on my testicular cancer for all i care...
               and say the bulge was: like
******* on a cowish ******...
                                      i like puppets anyway,
cos i'm a bit laxed in that way...
                         for all the things that might be
given, of the few things that can't be translated
from house or car, or a wife and 3.4 children statistic:
personal integrity.
        obviously certain people can only hum along
to the achievements of a zenith's worth of a house
and a car and a dog...
                            personal integrity is almost too much
for them, such "essential" components of being
a human rather than doing a human reaction
       later involve the cliche of the ultimate gamble...
and we all know how humans love to gamble...
well... few ever manage to gamble the stake of:
a leap of faith... and we all know how Nolan's inception
         ends...           that's me seeing the film a few years later...
      so how does man, the gambler fair
   when he's asked to gamble with the odds
  leap ratioed against a stumble?
                                      numbered is that 10:1?
it's just fascinating that vowels are the sole assured
                        proprietor of "dyslexia",
or as i care to mind: even with a language proficiency...
and tongue-tied waggle that's excusable for
anyone ready to write something down.
      i can appreciate being an individual,
but i can't celebrate it... i'll only utilise my individuality
to create a new plateau, a norm, the most
distinguished liberalism of my individualism;
     i will only utilise my individuality to create a new
norm - and anything that comes against it:
can burn in hell.
Bogdan Dragos Jul 2020
She followed him home from
the casino
because he
swore he was a gambling addict

A true gambler

he lived only to gamble

Never missed a chance to declare it

"I like gamblers," she
said. "Love 'em to death."

He was all
smiles

and then she continued, "Say, what
about a little gamble
of our own? You down for that?"

"Baby," he said, "long as it's a
gamble I'm down to hells
and below, haha."

Once in the room
she climbed on the bed
and removed her clothes
and shuffled through her purse
and pulled out about a dozen
hypodermic needles

"What you doin' with those?"
he asked

She grinned at him
and spread her
legs and pointed between them
"I'll stick some of 'em
here in these lips. Your part
of the gamble is to
turn off the lights and slide
your way between 'em. Let's go, gambler.
Oh, and no fingers. It's
an all-or-nothing gamble."
THE EXTRA: https://www.thecourtshipofwinds.org/bogdandragos
Love is a real gamble with no loss and no gain
So a lover should be ever ready to be just a loser
Love is not as simple as it seems to be just plain
Beloved is a winner but a lover can not be chooser

Let my love play this gamble whether lose or win
Real love is sheer worship in front of whom to bow
It is a supreme emotion it is just not a blind sin
So Let us promote our love with out being in row

My sweetheart for your sake I can go to any limit
Let me love you like a real partridge loves the moon
Let me quench my love thirst with beauty bit by bit
Let us be totally wet in drizzling rain of monsoon

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
You've got to be set to take the losses
If you gamble just to win
You've got to accept defeat at times
That's the way it's always been
You have to know that life's a gamble
And be set to take one on the chin
You've got to know how to take a loss
To learn how to take the win

Be it sports, or work or love
You're bound to lose some time
To got through life with out defeat
To not have lost one dime
No one wins at everything
Being perfect is a crime
You have to learn to lose for fun
For that's the reason to this rhyme

You can't always be a winner
You have to lose to move ahead
If you can't afford the lesson
Then you'd best just stay in bed
Life is what you make it
It's only over when you're dead
If you can't afford the losses
Then you'd better stay in bed

A winner doesn't gamble
His mindset is the win
It doesn't always happen
And therein lies the sin
A winner know the odds when
He should start to be again
A winner doesn't gamble
A true loser doesn't win

If you can't afford the losses
Then get out of the game
People will destroy you
They don't want to know your name
There's been others here before you
And they all end up the same
If you can't afford the losses
Then you'd best not play the game

You've got to be set to take the losses
If you gamble just to win
You've got to accept defeat at times
That's the way it's always been
You have to know that life's a gamble
And be set to take one on the chin
You've got to know how to take a loss
To learn how to take the win
Maia Vasconez  May 2018
A gamble
Maia Vasconez May 2018
1.He’d say anything to get me out of my shell.
2. His pupils are hard, black marbles and I want to flick him off of me.
3. He is always shuffling through women like they are a deck of cards.
4. It’s just how the dice rolls.
5. I was afraid of falling, of my arms snapping like wishbones.
6. He waits until I’m swaying like a door hinge.
7. My eyes are wide like 8 ***** and he hits me with that same click, roll, thunk of a pool ball table.
8. You are cursing me. When you yell, you are cursing me.
9. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
10. I hope the bruises on your legs turn into birds. I hope you get out of here.
This is for anyone whose ever been hurt by a man
Paul Butters Jan 2015
Oh what joy.
A little boy.
Jacob so happy.
A cheerful chappie.

Paul Butters
To my great nephew, born September 2014. SO CHEERFUL!!!
I'm not too lucky when I gamble
I lose more than I win
I would probably do better
If I tossed my money in a bin

Gambling is not just luck
It's timing and some skill
Some gamble for the fun of it
Some gamble for the thrill

To define exactly what it means
To risk money that you've earned
Means throwing out sensible thought
And not heeding what you've learned

For example, I played poker
And I lost most every cent
I lost my mortgage payment
Now, I'm living in a tent

To win it back I chose to go
And bet double at the track
The first horse that I bet on
Fell and broke his back

The second horse was scratched
I was in for a bad night
My fifth horse only had three legs
And he could just turn right

The next one had a jockey
Who's eyes were badly crossed
I won't tell you how he finished
But, I'll tell you that he lost

To gain back my small pittance
I went to the greyhound track
My first dog had a rider
A small monkey on his back

In the third race I got daring
And I bet on number three
Once the race got started
He had to stop and ***

I picked a dog in the fifth race
Just because I liked his name
It was the best one I had ever heard
"I'MBETYOU'RESORRYTHATYOUCAME"

The odds were long but what the hell
I was now gambling just for fun
Not only did he catch the rabbit
My ****** dog had won

I think I've got the secret now
I know just how to win
If I get tempted to go back and bet
I'll throw my money in the bin.

— The End —