| Well they blew up the chicken man
|
| in Philly last night
|
| Now they blew up his house too
|
| Down on the boardwalk they’re gettin'
|
| ready for a fight,
|
| Gonna see what them racket boys can do Now there’s trouble busin' in from outta state,
|
| and the D.A. |
| can’t get no relief
|
| Gonna be a rumble
|
| out on the promenade and the
|
| gamblin' commission’s hangin'
|
| on by the skin of its teeth
|
| CHORUS:
|
| Well now everything dies, baby that’s a fact,
|
| but maybe everything that dies, someday comes back
|
| Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
|
| and meet me tonight in Atlantic City
|
| Well I got a job and tried to put my money away,
|
| but I got debts that no honest man can pay
|
| So I drew what I had,
|
| from the Central Trust,
|
| and bought us two tickets on that City Coast bus
|
| CHORUS
|
| Now our luck may have died,
|
| and our love may be cold,
|
| but with you forever, I’ll stay
|
| Now I been lookin' for a job,
|
| but it’s hard to find
|
| Down here it’s just winners and losers
|
| Honey, last night,
|
| I met this guy,
|
| and I’m gonna do a favor for him.
|
| Everything dies, baby that’s a fact,
|
| but maybe everything that dies
|
| someday, comes back
|
| Put your hair up nice and sit up pretty,
|
| and meet me tonight in Atlantic City
|
| Meet me tonight in Atlantic City
|
| Meet me tonight in Atlantic City |