| This town is full of guys who think they’re mighty wise
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| Just because they know a thing or two
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| You can see them every day, strolling up and down Broadway
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| Telling of the wonders they can do
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| You’ll see wise guys and boosters
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| Card sharps and crap shooters
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| They congregate around the Metropole
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| They wear those flashy ties and collars
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| But where they get their dollars
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| They’ve all got an ace down in the hole
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| Some of them write to the old folks for coin
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| That’s their ace in the hole
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| Others have girls on that old tenderloin
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| That’s their ace in the hole
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| They’ll tell you of trips they are going to take
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| From Frisco up to the North Pole
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| But they’d end up on that line, in their clothes not a dime
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| If they lost that old ace in the hole
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| Wherever you might stray, along the Great White Way
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| They’ll corner you and start in telling lies
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| Of oil wells in Nebraska and gold mines in Alaska
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| You’ll be immersed in bullshit to your eyes
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| But every hustler knows
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| Bullshit buys no clothes
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| And only cold cash keeps you off the dole
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| So some of them wash dishes
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| And some of them are snitches
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| But all of them have aces in the hole
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| Drifters who dwell on that slippery slope
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| Grifters who jump their parole
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| Trying to sell bags of catnip for dope
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| That’s their ace in the hole
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| They’ll tell you of money they’ve made and they’ve spent
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| And flash a Missouri bankroll
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| But their names would be mud
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| Like a chump dealing stud
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| If they lost that old ace in the hole |