The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House) - Tom Waits

    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 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...


    Marco Giunco
    Work Basket Music Words