Dig the scene: it’s a cloudy day. Ominous. Thick with Gloom.
As this shifty motherfucker sleazes up into the room.
It’s the house on the hill where people always sneak in
to do whatever comes to mind, however they might sin.
The kind of place you get to fuck or gamble or kill.
Whatever you might choose; whatever ill you will.
And this is where Dubs entered like he had some nights before
‘cept tonight, he swore, he’d beat the house, he’d take ’em down, and more.
See, Double You, that dude, he had a plan that eve.
He had a couple card games all conceived within his sleeve.
He’d cased the place a couple times, to gain the land’s a’ lay.
Dubs just needed to get dealt into that game that night to play.
At the center of the room a lovely lady held her court
passing shuffled cards to players post a very thoughtful sort.
Double You reached the table, grinned at the dealer leerily
and said “You got room for a wandering stranger like me?”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks
he’d win.
Alla tha stacks…
Dubs, or Double You, born Will at his mama’s call
like every other child on earth, was a good one, born to fall.
Missus Lyon raised no dummies, no one never would claim that
so when Double You took his seat while taking off his hat
he’d prepared himself to beat the odds and all the gods of fortune
and he tossed off to the dealer the one hundred dollar buy-in.
Dubs smiled with teeth and settled in, expecting not to lose
probably ’cause up in his sleeve he held some extra twos
or maybe since he carried some more aces in his shoes
and also he could count the cards. Tonight he wouldn’t snooze.
He looked the players over, checked out the dealer’s bust
and traded in two cards to find himself with a straight flush.
He raised the bet up steadily, with other players folding
until Dubs and the dealer were the only two still holding.
He calls her by her name, with his evil, toothy grin,
and says, “Well, sweet petite Allison, I do believe I win!”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks
he’d win.
Alla tha stacks…
Well, Double You kept winning, exactly as he’d planned.
His scheme was working perfectly, as if upon command.
If he kept it up, he’d win all the money he would need
and get out of this godforsaken house at utmost speed
and carry that whole stack o’ cash and leave the neighborhood
and move Old Mama Lyon out of the damned state for good
or he could lose but Billy wasn’t worried. He stayed cool
and upped the ante higher, adding chips into the pool
while flirting with the dealer without polite restraint
insinuating things to make Allie’s grandma faint.
“My last hand,” Billy said, thinking “easy enough to do,”
as from his hat’s brim, he quickly palmed a king or two
and layed down a royal hand. The day was his for sure!
And he leered at Allie once more with thoughts most impure.
He grabbed at chips until the dealer said, “Pardon, Dubs?
Can you explain how is it you have three Kings of Clubs?”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks
he’d win.
Alla tha stacks…
Billy Lyon’s name was mentioned somewhat often after that
but his face? His eyes? His leering look? His hands? His giant hat?
Not one of those have been found again since that time.
Not in myth or history. In prose or in a rhyme.
The pieces of the story may be hard to put together
but prolly easier than Billy, knowing how he’s likely severed.
The most obvious lesson is: don’t mess with the house.
They know when you been cheating, so don’t act like a louse.
Also: treat staff staff well, whether hot or no,
and even though it’s hard, never treat her like a ho.
Anyway, this happened all a while ago by now
so the statute of limitations has passed up, anyhow.
If there’s anything more you hope to take away from this tale
Maybe it’s this: I dunno? Do the crime, go to jail?
or possibly: you’ll get the horns if you chase too much tail.
And finally: if you risk it all, don’t fail.
Allie’s stack Allie’s stack Allie’s stack she won
Allie’s stack Allie’s stack Allie’s stack…
Allie’s stack
Stack Allie.
jonberger 
Dig the scene: it’s a cloudy day. Ominous. Thick with Gloom. As this shifty motherfucker sleazes up into the room. It’s the house on the hill where people always sneak in to do whatever comes to mind, however they might sin. The kind of place you get to fuck or gamble or kill. Whatever you might choose; whatever ill you will. And this is where Dubs entered like he had some nights before ‘cept tonight, he swore, he’d beat the house, he’d take ’em down, and more. See, Double You, that dude, he had a plan that eve. He had a couple card games all conceived within his sleeve. He’d cased the place a couple times, to gain the land’s a’ lay. Dubs just needed to get dealt into that game that night to play. At the center of the room a lovely lady held her court passing shuffled cards to players post a very thoughtful sort. Double You reached the table, grinned at the dealer leerily and said “You got room for a wandering stranger like me?”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks he’d win.
Alla tha stacks…
Dubs, or Double You, born Will at his mama’s call like every other child on earth, was a good one, born to fall. Missus Lyon raised no dummies, no one never would claim that so when Double You took his seat while taking off his hat he’d prepared himself to beat the odds and all the gods of fortune and he tossed off to the dealer the one hundred dollar buy-in. Dubs smiled with teeth and settled in, expecting not to lose probably ’cause up in his sleeve he held some extra twos or maybe since he carried some more aces in his shoes and also he could count the cards. Tonight he wouldn’t snooze. He looked the players over, checked out the dealer’s bust and traded in two cards to find himself with a straight flush. He raised the bet up steadily, with other players folding until Dubs and the dealer were the only two still holding. He calls her by her name, with his evil, toothy grin, and says, “Well, sweet petite Allison, I do believe I win!”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks he’d win. Alla tha stacks…
Well, Double You kept winning, exactly as he’d planned. His scheme was working perfectly, as if upon command. If he kept it up, he’d win all the money he would need and get out of this godforsaken house at utmost speed and carry that whole stack o’ cash and leave the neighborhood and move Old Mama Lyon out of the damned state for good or he could lose but Billy wasn’t worried. He stayed cool and upped the ante higher, adding chips into the pool while flirting with the dealer without polite restraint insinuating things to make Allie’s grandma faint. “My last hand,” Billy said, thinking “easy enough to do,” as from his hat’s brim, he quickly palmed a king or two and layed down a royal hand. The day was his for sure! And he leered at Allie once more with thoughts most impure. He grabbed at chips until the dealer said, “Pardon, Dubs? Can you explain how is it you have three Kings of Clubs?”
Alla tha stacks alla tha stacks alla tha stacks he’d win. Alla tha stacks…
Billy Lyon’s name was mentioned somewhat often after that but his face? His eyes? His leering look? His hands? His giant hat? Not one of those have been found again since that time. Not in myth or history. In prose or in a rhyme. The pieces of the story may be hard to put together but prolly easier than Billy, knowing how he’s likely severed. The most obvious lesson is: don’t mess with the house. They know when you been cheating, so don’t act like a louse. Also: treat staff staff well, whether hot or no, and even though it’s hard, never treat her like a ho. Anyway, this happened all a while ago by now so the statute of limitations has passed up, anyhow. If there’s anything more you hope to take away from this tale Maybe it’s this: I dunno? Do the crime, go to jail? or possibly: you’ll get the horns if you chase too much tail. And finally: if you risk it all, don’t fail.
Allie’s stack Allie’s stack Allie’s stack she won Allie’s stack Allie’s stack Allie’s stack… Allie’s stack Stack Allie.