| He’s got the hands of a blind piano player
|
| He’s got a feel for the dark like a soothsayer
|
| He takes a little bow and tips his fedora
|
| Shouts like he’s gonna save Sodom and Gomorrah
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| Workin' for the circus X railroad bum
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| Carnival barker for kingdom dot come
|
| Dusty ol' Gibson, opposable thumb
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| Bangs out the rhythm on a 50-gallon drum
|
| Don’t wait for Tom
|
| Tom’s long gone, he’s already moved on
|
| Don’t wait for Tom
|
| I saw an ol' '55 Buick just before dawn
|
| I said, Hey, hey Tom
|
| The sun’s comin' up, you got your wipers on
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| Is it rainin' just around your bend?
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| Sittin' in a corner with his pet muskrat
|
| Tossin' his cards into an old man’s hat
|
| He grins at the girls, and they always grin back
|
| He bets an old waltz he could get 'em in the sack
|
| He makes his own music from the bell of a 'bone
|
| A waitress’s falsie and a railroad phone
|
| Bobs on his knees to an old tarantella
|
| South of the border, he stole it from a fella
|
| Don’t wait for Tom
|
| Tom’s long gone, he’s already moved on
|
| Don’t wait for Tom
|
| I saw an ol' '55 Buick just before dawn
|
| I said, Hey, hey Tom
|
| The sun’s comin' up, you got your wipers on
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| Is it rainin' just around your bend?
|
| Are you tryin' to make it rain again?
|
| His triple-jointed juke fingers splay like a scarecrow
|
| He kneels down and whistles to a fallen sparrow
|
| His eyes light up when they wheel in a piano
|
| He reads a dirty joke out of an old Baptist hymnal
|
| He wears a tuxedo made of sackcloth and ashes
|
| Has a tattoo of a girl who can bat her eyelashes
|
| Down on the river, he was fishin' with a sword
|
| He knocked off John the Baptist for a word from the Lord
|
| He takes his coffee with the blood of a turnip
|
| Blushes his cheeks with an Amsterdam tulip
|
| Choppin' up a rooster for a pullet surprise
|
| If the gravy don’t getcha, he’ll getcha with his eyes
|
| Don’t wait
|
| Hey Tom
|
| Sun’s comin' up, you got your wipers on |