tom waits - the ghost of saturday night lyrics
(after hours at napoleone’s pizza house)
a cab combs the snake,
tryin’ to rake in that last night’s fare,
and a solitary sailor
who spends the facts of his life like small change on strangers…
paws his inside p-coat pocket for a welcome twenty-five cents,
and the last bent b-tt from a package of kents,
as he dreams of a waitress with maxwell house eyes
and marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair.
her rhinestone-studded moniker says, “irene”
as she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes
and the texaco beacon burns on,
the steel-belted attendant with a ‘ring and valve special’…
cryin’ “fill’er up and check that oil”
“you know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil.”
the early mornin’ final edition’s on the stands,
and that town cryer’s 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 d-mn straight,
hash browns, hash browns, you know i can’t be late.
and the early dawn cracks out a carpet of diamond
across a cash crop car lot filled with twilight coupe devilles,
leaving the town in a-keeping
of the one who is sweeping
up the ghost of sat-rday night…
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