Şarkı Sözünü Düzelt

Şarkı

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