Wind in barley.

Through Gothic licks
Riffs and kicks
And puffed up pricks
Who want my dick
I'll try not to drown
I play the clown
And the fool
When the odds are down
And the chips are chalked up
Down the roulette wheel
To Venus' furs
And the chance to spiel
And perhaps I'll spurn
And spur them on
Simultaneously
In this elaborate con
I've not set this out so well
But they all play their parts as planned
And I've made a little Hell
For me or them?
I'm not so sure.