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Lyrics for 'The Ghosts Of Saturday Night' by 'Tom Waits'
(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 Butt 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 Damn 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 Saturday Night...
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