The pub cleaner

The smell of vapoured tar
Beer spilt in drip trays and evaporating from the carpets
The coal fire smouldering still
A lock in
Jacket's left forgotten hanging
Underneath the tables are a tonne of empty crisp packets
We can't have people drinking on an empty stomach, can we?
The landlords word's, not mine
He must be so exhausted as he's up at 5 each morning
And judging by the evidence, he served till after midnight
Or right till dawn, he's known to do this
More often than not
He likes to have a drink too
And boy, can he put down a lot
Then he's up as usual
And no one is the wiser
I best be quick when hoovering
I wouldn't want to wake him now
I'll soon have this place ship shape
For another round
When he comes back downstairs and opens up
The local pub downtown.