Gambler's Confession

If my story be told, Lord, I’d have to confess, I’m a rattlesnake scoundrel, no more and no less. But I’ll bet even Jesus forgives me my vice. Seems we both lost our shirt on a throw of the dice. I’m a graceless, tasteless gamblin’ man, A working class wager, a Labor Day scam. Ask not what I’ll give ya, I don’t give a damn. I’m just a hard gamblin’ man. I’m a bitter-fruit flower, a weed to the root. Keep a seven-inch lock-blade tucked in my boot. See, if life’s been a lesson, then I ain’t learned sh*t. I’m a bad bridge to cross and a good job to quit. I’m a ruthless, truthless gamblin’ man, A head full of fever, a mouth full of sand. I tip the night porter with blood on my hand. I’m just a hard gamblin’ man. Don’t play games with my heart, girl, you’re messin’ with sin. I’m a slick soulless devil. You ain’t gonna win. If you’re tryin’ to bluff, I’ll be readin’ your mind. If you’ve got a full house, I’ll have four-of-a-kind. I’m a shameless, blameless gamblin’ man. I’ve been to St. Louis. I’ve been to Japan. Ain’t slept with a woman I never outran. I’m just a hard gamblin’ man.