โหลดเพลง mp3 The Ghosts Of Saturday Night - Tom Waits

A cab combs the snake
Tryin to rake in that last nights 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 filler up and check that oil
You know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil.
The early mornin final editions on the stands
And that town cryers 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 cant late.be
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