The Roadhouse I remember

Yuk the roadhouse
Its sticky carpet the heat the wretched stain of rock dripping from the
walls, black hearted rebels kicking the change on the floor.
Schlock bands playing too loud as they thought they were too cool for
volume although you would never guess looking at their splotched splat hair
and vacant souls spilling from their useless instruments.
Get me vodka so I can clense my soul and not spit back on the piss sopped floor.