Copley’s Cafe & Tavern

Black people beware this bar is an under cover racist bar they smile at you the whole time your there but they are not really happy that you are there .Ok first off dont play black music if you do a white guy with a hat will get up any play anything thats anti black then keeps looking at you to see if you noticed lol he was mad when i danced an act like i loved the song So anyway me and a few friends decide to go here I was thinking hey its up the street from my new home brought an paid for cash so f it i went now I knew from the area that it would be mainly white people but its 2015 so im thinking only color that should matter is green damn i was wrong as soon as you walk in your not in a place were you feel welcomed anyways after throwing back a few we start to mingle with the customers so we buy drinks for them they buy drinks for us then all of sudden Im ready to go im bout to personally tell them thank you for the drinks nice meeting you etc… Omg I touch the guy and he must have had a fear of my black skin rubbing off on him he went insane walked out like Dont touch me lol he was really upset stormed out like a bicth Im like really at this point i felt offended but i did not react like most white people think black people do. If your looking a kkk crap race war bar then this is the place.

Well, well, well. Once again, I am proud to be the first to review another establishment that my fellow Unilocalers have either neglected, ignored, ran away from, or overlooked. Which ever it may be, my review shall be gospel, so mindless masses, listen up, and heed the words of your savior.
Copley’s is a small DelCo dive bar situated precariously above I-​95 on Chichester Ave. Literally, if the earth were to rumble even the smallest of quakes, Copley’s could very well perform a Triple Lindy crashing down on to I-​95 taking out truckers, and commuters alike. «Mommy, why are Daddy, Uncle Joey, and that one legged woman who looks like a man falling out of that building onto the road?» My first, and only, but not to be last, visit was a few days ago around 1 pm on a Thursday. Yes, my life is shameful, and many times reminiscent of a bad George Thorogood song, but this time, I SWEAR that there was a good reason to find me in a sleaze pit, rat hole of a bar in the middle of a work day. I had to meet a business associate here on the way up to a Phillies businessman’s special to grab a ticket, and Copley’s just happens to be his «go to» pregame spot. I had heard stories from him about this place before. Stories such as «Yeah, so this Pagan almost kicked my buddy’s ass for buying some girl (the Pagan’s) a drink.», and «If you want to have a REALLY good time, you need to get to Copley’s to watch the Al Albert’s version of karaōke». Needless to say, I was exhilarated, worried, and ready for anything when I walked in.
As I entered, I saw the kind of place that strikes up memories of similar haunts– Maximilian’s (soon to be reviewed), The Hide Away (ditto), and Harry’s American Bar (read the review). Copley’s is blue collar. It is a bar and a package store with zero pretension. Cigarette stained brown paneling. Stained carpet. A dart board. Some take out coolers in the back. And its dark. Really dark. This is the kind of place guys go to to dodge something in their lives, ie. work, wife, children, Unilocal reviews, etc. You know the kind of place. You’ve been there.
As I made my way in, there were shifty eyed guys hiding behind Yuengling bottles. A couple of Union boys smoking, and laughing. And then there was my associate with three other guys holding down a corner of the bar. They were sitting next to a guy who looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. He was playing on one of those game machines that sits on the bar. As I made myself comfortable on the stool in between my associate and the stranger. I could tell the stranger had just applied a few dabs of his favorite cologne, «Landfill» (made exclusively by Sunoco of Marcus Hook), and as I peered over I am pretty sure he hadn’t put any money in the game. He was just pressing buttons, and grinning stupidly at the machine. Our bartender, was a salty, likable middle aged woman with a 2 pack a day raspiness in her voice, and high command of the English language. «Youse want another round?» Of course, weese do.
After only two of those rounds, we, of course made friends with our neighbor, but alas had to depart. I know I will return, and for the sake of this review, and my Unilocaling reputation, I will try food if they serve it. When I am on my death bed dying of dysentery though, just tell my wife I love her.