Fire up the lawnmower,George,the liquor store is getting ready to close. The race is on,son!
When I was a young drunkard,I used to go to a rough-assed redneck beer joint on a regular basis. When George Jones came on the jukebox,you had to stand up, remove your hat/cap, or get beat up and tossed out the front door by the owner and his pals. You either wised up or left your headgear at home.
You didn't want to be there when someone put a roll of quarters in the damned thing and played "He Stopped Loving Her Today" for two hours. It was ugly.
I miss that place. BBQ pit on the left side, rooster pit out back,and the occasional game of Russian Roulette at the bar to weed out the lesser idiots.