Текст песни Tom Waits - The Ghosts Of Saturday Night (After Hour
Tom Waits - The Ghosts Of Saturday Night (After Hour слова песни
A cab combs the snake,Tryin` to rake in that last night`s fare,And a solitary sailorWho 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 eyesAnd marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair.Her rhinestone-studded moniker says, "Irene"As 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` "Fill`er up and check that oil""You know it could be your distributor and it could be your 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 diamondAcross a cash crop car lot filled with twilight Coupe Devilles,Leaving the town in the keepingOf the one who is sweepingUp the ghosts of Saturday night...