Black Jack's Door Poem by rawden lewis

I don't aim to go through Black Jack's door again
No, I won't claim to go through Black Jack's door again
Round the back of anger's alley it's gutter doorway stands
With the neon light ashineing on the doorman's jeweled hands
But the hands inside are paper and they'll cause you lots of pain
That's why, I don't aim to go through Black Jack's door again

Well they'll deal you the joker and they'll deal you the queen
Then they'll turn the tables and they'll beat your seventeen
For they'll clean you of your wages and they won't let you complain
That's why I don't aim to go through Black Jack's door again

You see the wheel spinning you place bets upon the ball
You're chasing all the numbers until you've lost it all
For they'll call you sir, m'sieur and they'll take your last loose change
That's why I don't aim to go through Black Jack's door again

They'll say that you are lucky, They'll say the field's alive
You'll end up shooting dice, You'll end up shooting five
For they'll deprive you of your savings and see you walk in chains
That's why I don't aim to go through Black Jack's door again

You try to find somebody who'll help to pull you through
But it has got you worse than heroin
And drinking whiskey too
And it screws your mind to pieces and it beats you 'til you crawl
So tell my baby brother not to go through Black Jack's door at all