In a tiny, tiny southern Swedish country town
Two acres of field and a gas station
Riding on my moped, looking for fun
Staring into the blood-red sun
Oh, the country road is a boulevard
With neon lights and night-open bars
In my jacket, pack of playing cards
Just jacks, jokers, and a queen of hearts
My heart is beating, beating like Ringo
As I pull into the drive-in bingo
Why do the people in the country want to look like the people in the city
When the people in the city aren't the slightest pretty?
I want the people in the country to wear flannel shirts
And saggy jeans all covered in dirt
I want the people in the country to be open and kind
But most times I've met those with a narrow mind
With a big black dog to bite your behind
If they ever find out you're not one of their kind
All these thoughts as I open up a zingo
Friday night at the drive-in bingo
So this is what they do out here for fun?
They play bingo and let their engines run
Tonight's jackpot is a pig, hey, that's criminal
G-42, ooh, I'm going diagonal
I'm gonna gather up a few of my friends
As many fits into an army tent
Just bring your savings and a bottle of wine
To Friday night's reversal of time
This little southwest village shouldn't cost that much
Maybe a handful of silver or a hundred bucks
We could have wild, wild parties in that big old lodge
And the windmill's perfect for movies and such
We could fake our d**hs to get insurance money
And take on hippie names, I'd be Snowphish, you'd be Sunny
We could start a little farm with little white bunnies
Just 'cause watching them copulate is very funny
There's a cow and an ostrich just waiting for you
A gla** of apple cider just waiting for you
The smell of 1952 just waiting for you
And all I'm doing here is just waiting for you
A daydream, I'm caught up in limbo
Friday night at the drive-in bingo