Tom Waits - Goodnight Loving Trail Lyrics
This is a song about Utah Phillips, the golden voice of the great South-WestAnd it's about a, it's about a, like a cook on a wagon train, you knowAnd they used to call 'em "The Old Woman"Oh hush up now, I'm trying to sing this damn thing now (Alright here we go)I ain't going to open the show tonightThis is Utah Phillips, the golden voice of the great South-WestAnd it's about the cook on a wagon trainAnd they used to call them "Woman"; they called 'em "Old Woman"You see, they can't work anymore and they can't ride so it's kinda like, eh, Charlie WoosterThey give him an apron and always got a five O'clock shadow and they just wop up a good??? mess of fiddles???And eh, this is called "The Goodnight Loving Trail" witch is a eh, an old cattle trail named after mister Goodnight and mister Lovin'You're too old to wrangle, ride in the swingYou beat the triangle and you curse everythingYou know if dirt were a kingdom, you would be a kingOn the Goodnight Trail, on the Loving TrailOur Old Woman, she's lonesome tonightAnd your French harp is crying just like a low bawling calfIt's a wonder the wind don't tear off your skinGet in there and blow out the lightAh the cooks fire's out, the coffee's all goneNow the Ol' Boys are up and they're raising the dawnAnd you're sitting there; you're lost in a songOn the Goodnight Trail, on the Loving TrailOur Old Woman is lonesome tonightNow your French harp is crying just like a low bawling calfIt's a wonder the wind don't tear off your skinGet in there and blow out the lightOh your snake oil, your herbs and your liniments tooYou can do anything that a doctor can doWell except find a cure for your own goddamn stewOn the Goodnight Trail, on the Loving TrailOur Old Woman is lonesome tonightAnd your French harp is crying just like a low bawling calfIt's a wonder the wind don't tear off your skinWell get in there and blow out the lightSomeday, I know, I'll be just the sameAnd I'll be wearing an apron instead of a nameNow no-one can change it no-one's to blame'Cause the dessert's a book written in lizards and sageYou know it's easy to look just like an old torn out pageYou're all faded and cracked with the colours of ageOn the Goodnight Trail, on the Loving TrailOur Old Woman is lonesome tonightAnd your French harp is crying like a low bawling calfIt's a wonder the wind don't tear off your skinGet on in there and blow out the lightGoodnightAll for, primarily for the benefit of the radio listening audience I'm gonna launch into a, little bit of Metropolitan double talk. It, I did in the last set, I, so this is a, this is gonna go out on the air this evening and eh, so I'm gonna do a little piece called "Diamonds On My Windshield", And eh, it's about driving in a, well, this particular time was a 1955 Buick Roadmaster and eh, oh some say it was just about as slick as deer guts on a doorknob that old car. Had a gold metal flat top, it was a two tone blue. And the guy that sold it to me lived in Massachusetts, he was moving back to Massachusetts and he couldn't take the thing with him 'cause he didn't think it would make it. Come to think, I, I, I drove it for about 4000 miles, pumped about 2500 into it, sold it for 1250, so… It held up under the strain and eh, and eh… So this is about driving in the rain and eh…
