Tom Waits - The Ghosts Of Saturday Night lyrics

(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 bu*t 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...