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Row C, slot four, a candid soul
it never eats your dimes
it drops the snack, it takes its toll
in fair and gentle times
The last honest vending machine
hums beneath a stairwell light
it's seen the things that men have seen
and still it does what's right
It knows your three a.m. despair
the chips you shouldn't buy
it lets the spiral turn with care
and waves a small goodbye
They'll replace it with a screen
that scans your weary face
but nothing's ever been so clean
as that humming, honest place
The last honest vending machine
hums beneath a stairwell light
it's seen the things that men have seen
and still it does what's right
