On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere,
I met up with the slacker; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin' out the window at the darkness
'Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, "Son, I've made my life out of sittin’ on chairs,
And knowin' what they weighed by the way they held their legs.
so if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of whack
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, "If you're gonna sit by the chiar, boy, ya gotta learn to sit right.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your legs when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for standin' when the sittin's done.

Ev'ry slacker knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
'Cause ev'ry chair's a winner and ev'ry chair's a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to sit in your sleep."

When he'd finished speakin', he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the slacker, he broke even.
But in his final words I found a chair that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your legs when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for standin' when the sittin's done.