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Fry Cook At the Greasy Spoon

Bright lights, stoned out waitresses Burned out cooks work the grill Bar rush crowd, jukebox loud Let’s hope they stay in line You’d never know the dishwasher Is a drag queen, he buses table butch The closet case assistant manager Is as hot for him, as I am for the blonde. The waitresses move like sports cars With positraction smoothness And we call out orders In old movie slang to break monotony After thirteen hours here Winding my way back home I’ll stop for breakfast and flirting With the morning girl at George Webbs.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things