| So long to silent movies
|
| To quiet dances on a screen
|
| So long to burning slowly
|
| Smelling sweat and kerosene
|
| And all the actors on the stage are rolling cigarettes
|
| And whispering so low
|
| Call my parents up, tell them I’m not coming home
|
| So long to silent movies
|
| To waking early, staying late
|
| I think I’ll head on down to Reno
|
| Try my hand at real-estate
|
| And I’ll fix up a Cadillac and find a girl who Likes to dance so slow
|
| Call my parents up, tell them I’m already home
|
| But I swear I’ve seen my share of black and white
|
| And I swear this screen, it nevr tells the story right
|
| So long to silent movis
|
| To all the talking in between
|
| Cleaning dust off of the press-box
|
| And fixing broken tape machines
|
| Wasn’t much of an actor, was I?
|
| I ain’t much of anything at all
|
| But I can’t see those marquee lights
|
| That are hanging on the wall
|
| But I swear I’ve seen my share of black and white
|
| And I swear this screen, it never tells the story right
|
| So I ain’t ever gonna talk again
|
| I ain’t ever gonna talk again
|
| No, no
|
| So I ain’t ever gonna talk again
|
| I ain’t ever gonna talk again
|
| No, no
|
| I ain’t ever gonna talk, talk
|
| I ain’t ever gonna talk, talk… |