Plea #51: The Man Sat At The Table There's a man with friends around him.
They all keep shoutin "bust!"
The dice clang on the table.
in the air's a mutual distrust

And the bets all fill the tin
Those who are out just want back in.

But the man sat at the table,
is the type to lose and grin
He don't care about the hand he's dealt.
As long as he's got his gin

'cuz the game ain't just the batters;
It's the 'why you play' that matters.

But the friends that all surround him
Still don't know the race's tricks.
And it's not somethin' you tell them.
It only comes from countin' sticks.

Then there's some folks who seem to earn!
But only the losers face enough to learn.

But there's a man with friends around him.
It don't matter that there's must.
The sound of clinks and the smell of drinks,
Is enough to grant his sails gust.