Текст: Willard Grant Conspiracy. Christmas in Nevada.

Flip the switch and let the gamblers roll
Headed up from old Mexico
The border towns, they all look the same

Brand new suit and a bankers roll
Switchblade knife and no place to go
Except where I might find the next game

Lights go on across the town
Children's choir sings auld lang syne
Black jack dealers, they take their toll

I look up from this beat park bench
Into an ocean of discontent
Can't wait to buy a ticket to anywhere but home

Washing dishes behind the casino grill
Ain't no way to make a kill
But on the winter nights
The water keeps me warm

Take my pay and buy a gun
Steal a car and hope it runs
Find a place where can make my name

Flip the switch and let the gamblers roll
Headed up from old Mexico
The border towns, they all look the same