I'm generally not a morning drinker Said the gold-tooth man to the barkeep Ordering his second gimlet The writer works at the lush life Out of compulsion And oh he carves himself in two In which we meet the sly detective Mixed up in a case he’ll provide a getaway For an old friend He tails a drunk who’s a paperback writer A bo'le rage fighter And oh, his lady such a prey thing He carves himself in two The morning drinker keeps them coming Makes a study of the ice as it cracks In the glass beneath the poison His wife is dying He keeps from crying Harnessing his pain To all the characters he’s made And he gives each one a name And when he drinks alone He talks to them out loud For love’s a word For love’s a word The detective’s on a toxic cocktail Two parts mistrust and one part lust For a certain woman He can’t resist all her wild advances Her tribal dances Her husband in the next room As their love begins to bloom But he cuts their dalliance off too soon Between the millionaire And the man in the mug shot There is an unwri'en agreement That anyone anywhere can be bought It is a path lined with Blood, money, and deceit The brighter the writer The lighter the touch As they offer their cunning critique The morning drinker’s on the beach now Sca'ering the ash from an urn With a splash to test the water