quarters

Wilco

I travel where you worked
Was cold and dark as a cavern
You kept quarters in your shirt
But I never could just have them
You always made me sweep around every flying floozy
Under booths and bums asleep
Waking up, they'd ask you, "Who's he? "
Behind a glass without a glance
"My daughter's boy, " you would say
Well, I stood there in a trance
Listening to the jukebox play