These ancient city walls, are a hive of activity,
Where vagrants and tourists clash, with alarming regularity.
Money exchanges hand, victims place their bets,
The unsuspecting and innocent, fined for their interest.

It’s fifty bucks a game, my son, fifty bucks a game.
It’s fifty bucks a game, my son, fifty bucks a game.

The vagrants are sleight of hand, and disguise every move.
The victim taps the cup to win, but the money he will lose.
A shrill laugh echoes around, a cry of victory.
Each victim stripped in an instant of their dignity.

But I tapped the cup you said, vagrant, I tapped the cup you said.
I tapped the cup you said, vagrant, I tapped the cup you said.

The victim walks away, penniless, dejected.
Disappears into the crowd, he sees another fool selected.

Who wishes to play next, good folk, who wishes to play next?
Who wishes to play next, good folk, who wishes to play next?