Gillian Welch – Turf The Gambler (Guitar)

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Poor old Turf the Gambler

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He was a friend of mine

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Crashed upon the pavement by the Beast

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We'd been playing poker

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Of course, and drinking wine

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When we heard his soul had been released

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We glued him back together

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And passed a hat around

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Paid to have it stitched above his bed

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Embroidered words he'd spoken

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Would greet his tired eyes

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When he awoke, transfixed but not dead

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Poor old Turf thе Gambler

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And now he tells his talе

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And shows his scars from here to Hollywood

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To waitresses and actresses

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And princes who preside

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Over everything you thought was gone for good

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Poor old Turf the Gambler