The Player

On a warm summers evening in a con line bound for nowhere.
I met up with the Player; we were both too wired to sleep.
So we took turns staring out the window at the darkness
Till boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, "Son, I've made my Aces out of reading peoples faces,
And knowing what their Plot was by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind my saying, I can see you're not an Ace.
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression
Said, "If you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to overload 'em,
Know when to run away and know when to weasel.
You never count your internals when you're rolling on the tables.
There'll be time enough for counting when the rolling's done.

Now every player knows that the secret to surviving
Is knowing what to fire and knowing what to keep
'Cause every ship's a winner and every ship's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

So when he'd finished speaking, he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and wandered off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness, the Player, his photons broke even.
But in his final words, I found an Ace that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to overload 'em,
Know when to run away and know when to weasel.
You never count your internals when you're rolling on the tables.
There'll be time enough for counting when the rolling's done.

by Kenneth Jones,
Parody copyright (c) 2010 ADB, Inc.