Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Ghosts Of Saturday Night, artist - Tom Waits. Date of issue: 05.10.2014
Song language: English
The Ghosts Of Saturday Night |
| 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 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 |