At six o'clock in the morning, the duty calls every day. The sub smells bad, like a fish in a trash can. And his eyes are small and look insane. By little and little his friends have left, but he thought he would mind. But in the evening when the day is done, he's the master of the gambling den. The straws and pockets are filled with coins. For having them hanging down to his knees. The slot machines squeak like steam masks. And the pinball shocks them all. Roll my boy, roll. This is the chance, get out of control. Roll my boy, roll. It is my show. And I need this point to win. And I need this point to win. And I need this point to win. Roll my boy, roll. This is the chance, get out of control. Roll my boy, roll. It is my show. And I need this point to win. To win. To win. Roll my boy, roll. This is the chance, get out of control. Roll my boy, roll. It is my show. And I need this point to win. To win.