I thought the chance it was a hundred to one On one thumb I could count up the percentage of my coming undone But now some calculation of impatiently fated rhymes Sourpatch ribbon to the wreck of my valentine That a fine mess like this should get dished I woulda made it more unlikely if I had one wish I take ish with the interstitial liquid bliss And insist another double on the rocks with twist. This is a fist full of good credit. This is a circumstance that I must edit. I said it ever thusly with the bust knee You could trust me Can't front without two feet to step fuss-free But see, that's just fine, I lost mine Handed then the bandit, thin: my last dime Watched the wheels spin thinking infinitesimal My ten-decimal chance, the professional Gamblers scoffed (But the bells went off)