Damm , sounds like home to me
T. S. Elliott's wasteland
Where puragatory worst residence live
Raise a toast to the Ghost of Christmas Past
for you haven't the pressence to make a future out of it .
Where happy hour never ends and friendship is sealed by the clink of glass
And all the women have traces of ***** on their lips as they ask hey buddy will you buy me a beer
Year after year until O'Hara's Pub and Grill becomes your Thanksgiving , Easter , Memorial Day , Christmas , and New Years Day
And they even paint a reserved parking space out back for you
But they were the only bar open for the blizzard when everyone took acid and danced barefoot in the snow