A mirror hides the secret door.
Behind there lots of tomfoolery occurs.
Men with money go there with full sacks.
Walk out with a subtle smile, loose eyebrows and empty wallets.
The windows are boarded and the entrance dark.
Now and then you see one of the hostesses pop out.
Rotten wood in the walls as damp seasons and woman enter.
The old pimp who owns it, rolls out with jovial laughter.
And not one can point the finger.
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