"The Mickens Boys"

The Mickens boys, they hang out late

And saunter past the bars and halls—

Moving on an unknown fate.

A window learns a rock's dead weight

As curses trace the darkened walls—

The Mickens boys, they hang out late.

Cheap whiskey clouds all but their hate

Each grin behind a lit Pall Mall—

Smiling on an unknown fate.

Barflies learn to ignore the faint

Odd sound a beaten weakling's calls—

The Mickens boys they hang out late.

Sometimes they laugh and bust the gate

To race their cars down by the falls—

Charging on an unknown fate.

One night they won’t steer so straight

When luck's done quit for one or all

Those Mickens boys who hang out late—

Rushing on an unknown fate.