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Tom Waits( Thomas Alan Waits )
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The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House)
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 the distributor and it could be your coil.'
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com 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 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
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