| Well, sitting in a bar alone where no-one knows your name
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| Is like laying in a graveyard wide awake
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| You’re scared that if you cough or yawn you might wake up the dead
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| So pretend to read a paper or just drink instead
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| I’m a stand-up comedian, but I’d sit down if I could
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| The world just seems to want folk like me to stand
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| And the punch-lines seem to disappear like clouds across the sky
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| And the laughter could be real or could be canned
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| Rum by the kettle drum, whiskey by the jar
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| At Liar’s Bar…
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| Well, living with a lying man could never really hurt
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| But living with a drunk one, no-one deserves
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| And you’re looking for your husband, you’re not sure he’s still alive
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| Don’t bother with the cemetery, he’ll be down at Liar’s Dive
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| I’m a travelling businessman, I just stopped in for one drink
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| You’ll find that I’m not like the other men
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| Their noses are red, whilst mine is only pink
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| And they didn’t choose their drink, their drink chose them
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| And the grave-digger's smiling at his reflection in his spade
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| He’s visiting the seediest, the shallowest of graves
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| The vocal chords of elephants and the characters of mice
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| They’re singing, «Whisky, whisky», so good they named it twice
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| And son, this is rule one…
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| Well, I don’t pass buildings with lights on; |
| if I said that I did, I’d have lied
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| 'Cause what looks like a Chinese restaurant may have Chinese New Year inside
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| And son, all my life I’ve been searching the bars I’ve been in, I forget
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| The lights outside ever brighter, but a light on the inside not yet
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| And he’s a world-wide traveller, he’s not like me or you
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| But he comes in mighty regular for one who’s passing through
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| That one came in his work clothes, he’s missed his last bus home
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| He’s missed a hell of a lot of buses for a man who wants to roam
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| You’ll never get to Rome, son
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| And son, this is rule two…
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| If I look rough, I am rough, if I look sad I am
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| If I look broke, I am broke, just a broke-down piece of man
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| And I don’t mean to get sad on you all, but this is the truth…
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| I’ve turned over enough leaves to fill an autumn; |
| if I had one final wish
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| I’d be your slave for a decade if you could take me away from this pish
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| If you took me away from this, I’d be different, you’d see
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| 'Cause I didn’t choose a drink, a drink just chose me
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| Well, I’m smoking like a chimney and I’m drinking like a fish
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| At Liar’s Bar… |