One of the daytime boys bit the dust   It was before his time, but he'd hurried it up   They say no one's gonna miss him much   The Wood will be a wake tonight      Now one of the barstools sits empty   There's nobody taking shots of Wild Turkey   Happy Hour's getting started early      When they found him, they couldn't tell   If he went the long way around, or took a shortcut to Hell   It's all probably just as well      But the barkeep won't romanticize   He wants the newspaper man to get the facts right   He says. «Look me in the eyes   He was a bastard. He was bitter   A bad drunk, a worse tipper»   To make his life into a love song would be the worst kind of lie