Blackjack, White Line
Each day, a game of chance,
Each day a day to win, or a day to loss,
A simple game turns into a bet, a bet were you are the prize,
I walk a fine line, and play by the rules,
Knowing that a bet is a bet and I not a betting man,
A game where the first to call blackjack wins, and clams his prize,
Each time I try, but my hand never deals the right hand,
My pockets are growing thin, money spent on betting for you,
Sometimes I win at a stand, but a stand never means she’ll stay,
And each time it never lasts very long, only a month or two to restack the chips,
I try to split my chances,
Only never to call a blackjack,
And still I fallow the white line on the edge, hoping that my hand will call for a blackjack,
Only a game of chance, yet life is full of chances, and money driving everything,
The risks are getting higher and the bets are stacking up,
To the end I will go,
And to the edge I will go, to bet the last dollar on you,
I see a queen…,
Maybe this will be the time, my chance,
An ace of hearts I hope it will be,
But a chance is a chance, no matter now white or black it is,
I call blackjack on a white line, on the edge of my final deal.