Il testo della The ghosts of saturday night

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