Tom Waits - Small Change Lyrics
Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight,And nobody flinched down by the arcadeAnd the marquees weren't weeping, they went stark-raving mad,And the cabbies were the only ones that really had it madeAnd his cold trousers were twisted, and the sirens high and shrill,And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar billAnd the ***** mannequins with their Cheshire grins,And the raconteurs and roustabouts said 'Buddy, come on in, 'cause'Cause the dreams ain't broken down here now, they're walking with a limpNow that Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight'And nobody flinched down by the arcadeAnd the burglar alarm's been disconnected,And the newsmen start to rattleAnd the cops are telling jokes about some whorehouse in SeattleAnd the fire hydrants plead the Fifth AmendmentAnd the furniture is bargains galoreBut the blood is by the jukebox on an old linoleum floorAnd what a hot rain on Forty-Second Street,And now the umbrellas ain't got a chanceAnd the newsboy's a lunatic with stains on his pants, 'cause'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eightAnd no one's gone over to close his eyesAnd there's a racing form in his pocket,Circled 'Blue Boots' in the thirdAnd the cashier at the clothing store didn't say a wordAs the siren tears the night in half, and someone lost his walletWell, a surveillance of assailance, it that's what you want to call itAnd the whores hike up their skirts and fish for drug-store prophylacticsWith their mouths cut just like razor blades and their eyes are like stilettosAnd her radiator's steaming and her teeth are in a wreck, and nah,She won't let you kiss her, but what the hell do you expect?And the Gypsies are tragic and if you want to buy perfume,Well, they'll bark you down like carneys, sell you Christmas cards in June, butBut Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eightAnd his headstone's a gumball machine,No more chewing gum or baseball cards or overcoats or dreamsSomeone's hosing down the sidewalk, and he's only in his teens, 'cause'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eightAnd a fistful of dollars can't change that,And someone copped his watch fob, and someone got his ringAnd the newsboy got his porkpie Stetson hatAnd the tuberculosis old men at the Nelson wheeze and coughAnd someone will head south until this whole thing cools off, 'cause'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight, yeah,Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
