In his fiery funk, he asked,
“Why don’t they quake at my every flame?”
The bartender, not terribly concerned, countered
“Hey Beelzebub, this is a dive bar, remember. Anything can happen here.”
He went on serving gin.
The devil started another drink,
The best of the top shelf.
Wondered again, “But, but, but, but,
They don’t even look up from their scotches
I’m just old hat.”
“You’re not even a hot dog.
Make the best of it.
Maybe they’ll kick you out of hell.”
“I would like to kick you out of the Derby.
Got to get rid of this sulfur smell somehow
Before All Saints Eve – Scram, buddy, scram.
But what the hell, first have a drink on me.”