Friday nights at this two-story West Gray watering hole, the upstairs space turns into the most drunken and debauched karaoke party of the evening, if not the week. Lone Stars are sold by the bucket and the bar slings out cheap mixed drinks to coax even the most dedicated wallflower into singing his or her lungs out to their favorite college-days Def Leppard song. Every week is a healthy mix of tatted hipsters and tucked-in yuppies letting their hair down to sing their most guilty of pleasures in front of strangers. You'll see and hear your standard shit-kicking country and hair-metal ballads each night, but every now and then you can catch a shooting star like a drunken man pouring beer on himself to a Shania Twain song. And near closing time, every song is a singalong and everyone is a superstar.
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