Tom Waits - The Ghosts Of Saturday Night Lyrics
(after hours at napoleones pizza house)A cab combs the snake,Tryin to rake in that last nights fare,And a solitary sailorWho spends the facts of his lifeLike small change on strangers...Paws his inside p-coat pocketFor a welcome twenty-five cents,And the last bent butt from a package of kents,As he dreams of a waitress with maxwell house eyesAnd marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair.Her rhinestone-studded moniker says, ireneAs she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyesAnd the texaco beacon burns on,The steel-belted attendant with a ring and valve special...Cryin filler up and check that oilYou know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil.The early mornin final editions on the stands,And that town cryers cryin there with nickels in his hands.Pigs in a blanket sixty-nine cents,Eggs - roll em over and a package of kents,Adam and eve on a log, you can sink em damn straight,Hash browns, hash browns, you know I cant be late.And the early dawn cracks out a carpet of diamondAcross a cash crop car lotFilled with twilight coupe devilles,Leaving the town in a-keepingOf the one who is sweepingUp the ghost of saturday night...
