Jethro was holding two pairs of tens, and that’s a mighty hand
For a man who’s pushing forty to grasp and understand.
He looked at the dealer and gave her a nod
He’d take one more card and then pray to God
That his hand was a winner that no soul could beat.
He’d gambled his dinner, and he’d quite like to eat…
Some barbecued fish at a beachside café
With a simple white wine, a crisp Chardonnay
Across from the table there sat one-eyed Jake
Who was partial himself to a nice bit of Hake.
But back to the game and its fabulous pot
Who was the winner and who grabbed the lot?
The steaks were so high they were not fit to eat
The chef slung them out in a sack marked ‘BAD MEAT’
Then served up some nachos for the gamblers instead
But Jethro had noticed that big Jake was dead
So he gathered his winnings, left the dealer a tip
Put on his hat, checked the gun on his hip
Walked slow and easy to the livery stable
He rode out of town – that’s the end of this fable