Artist: Tom Waits Album: Foreign Affairs {1977}

INSTRUMENTAL

Muriel, since you left town the clubs closed down
There's one more burned out lamppost on Main Street
Down where we used to stroll
And Muriel, I still hit all the same old haunts
And you follow me wherever I go
And Muriel, I see you on a Saturday night
In a penny arcade with your hair tied back
And the diamond twinkles in your eye
Is the only wedding ring that I'll buy you Muriel

And Muriel, how many times I've left this town
To hide from your memory, it haunts me
But I only get as far as the next whiskey bar
I buy another cheap cigar and I'll see you every night
Hey Muriel, Muriel
Hey buddy, got a light

Bartender, I�d like a Manhattan please

Stop me if you�ve heard this one
But I feel as though we�ve met before
Perhaps I am mistaken
But it�s just that I remind you of someone you used to care about
Oh, but that was long ago
Now tell me, do you really think I�d fall for that old line
I was not born just yesterday
Besides I never talk to strangers anyway

Hell, I ain�t a bad guy when you get to know me
I just thought there ain�t no harm
Hey, yeah, just try minding your own business, bud
Who asked you to annoy me with your sad, sad repartee
Besides I never talk to strangers anyway

Your life�s a dimestore novel
This town is full of guys like you - ain't that cold
And you�re looking for someone to take the place of her
You must be reading my mail
And you�re bitter cos he left you
That's why you�re drinkin� in this bar
Well, only suckers fall in love with perfect strangers

It always takes one to know one, stranger
Maybe we�re just wiser now
Yeah, and been around the block so many times
That we don�t notice that we�re all just perfect strangers
As long as we ignore that we all begin as strangers
Just before we find we really aren�t strangers anymore

Aw, you don�t look like such a chump
Aw, hey baby

Jack was sittin' poker-faced with bullets backed with bitches
Neal hunched at the wheel puttin' everyone in stitches
Braggin' bout some nurse he screwed while drivin' through Nebraska
And when she came she honked the horn and Neal just barely missed a truck
And then he asked her if she'd like to come like that to Californy
You see, a red head in a uniform will always get you horny, yeah
And we had the hairnet and those white shoes and a name tag and a hat
She drove like Andy Granatelli, knew how to fix a flat
And Jack was almost at the bottom of his MD 20/20
Neal was yellin' out the window tryin' to buy some bennies
From a Lincoln full of Mexicans and the left rear tire blowed
And the sons-o-bitches prit near almost ran off the road, yeah
And, well, the nurse had spilled the manoshevitz all up and down her dress
And then she lit the map on fire and Neal just had to guess
Should we try to find a bootleg route or a fillin' station open
The nurse was dumpin' out her purse and lookin' for an envelope
And Jack was out of cigarettes and we crossed the yellow line
And the gas pumps looked like tombstones from here
And they felt lonelier than a parking lot when the last car pulls away
And the moonlight dressed the double breasted foothills in the mirror
Weaving outta neglige and a black brassiere
And the Mercury was runnin' hot and we were almost out of gas
And just then Florence Nightingale, she dropped her drawers
And stuck her fat ass half way out the window with a Wilson Pickett tune
And shouted, "Get a load of this," and gave the finger to the moon

Countin' one-eyed Jacks, whistling Dixie in the car
Neal was doin' least a hundred when we saw a fallin' star
And Florence wished that Neal would hold her stead of chewin' on his cigar
Jack was noddin' out and wishin' he was in a bar
With Charlie Parker on the bandstand and not a worry in the world
And a glass of beer in one hand and his arms around a girl
Neal was singin' to the nurse underneath a Harlem moon
And somehow you could just tell we'd be in California soon
Open up your golden gates, California here I come
I said, California here I come
Look out, California here I come

Hey, sight for sore eyes, it's a long time, no see 
Workin� hard, hardly workin�, hey man, you know me 
Water under the bridge, did you see my new car 
Well, it's bought and it's payed for, parked outside of the bar 
And hey, barkeep, what's keepin� you, keep pourin� drinks 
For all these palookas, hey, you know what I thinks 
That we toast to the old days and DiMaggio, too 
And old Drysdale and Mantle, Whitey Ford and to you 

Oh, you know, the old gang ain't around, everyone has left town 
Cept for Thumm and Giardina, said they just might be down 
Oh, half drunk all the time and I'm all drunk the rest 
Monk's still the champion, oh, but I am the best 
And hey, barkeep, what's keepin� you, keep pourin� drinks 
For all these palookas, hey you know what I thinks 
That we toast to the old days and DiMaggio, too 
And Drysdale and Mantle, Whitey Ford and to you 

Guess you heard about Nash, he was killed in a crash 
Oh, that must have been two or three years ago now 
Yeah, he spun out and he rolled, hit a telephone pole 
And he died with the radio on 
Oh, she's married with a kid, finally split up with Sid 
He's up north for a nickle's worth for armed robbery 
And I'll play you some pinball, no you ain't got a chance 
Then go on over and ask her to dance 
And hey, barkeep, what's keepin� you, keep pourin� drinks 
For all these palookas, hey you know what I thinks 
That we toast to the old days and DiMaggio, too 
And Drysdale and Mantle, Whitey Ford and to you

Buy me a drink and I'll tell you what I seen
And I'll give you a bargain from the edge of a maniac's dream
That buys a black widow spider with a riddle in his yarn
That's clinging to the furrow of a blind man's brow
And I'll start talking from the brim of a thimble full of whiskey
On a train through the Bronx that will take you just as far
As the empty of a bottle to the highway of a scar
That stretched across the blacktop of my cheek like that
And then ducks beneath the brim of a fugitive's hat
You'll learn why liquor makes a stool pigeon rat on every face
That ever left his shadow down on Saint Mark's Place

Hell, I'd double cross my mother if it was whiskey that they paid
And so an early bird says Nightstick's on the hit parade
And he ain't got a prayer and his days are numbered
And you'll track him down like a dog
Well, it's a tough customer you're getting in this trade
Cos the Nightstick's heart pumps lemonade
And whiskey keeps a blind man talkin' alright
And I'm the only one who knows just where he stayed last night

He was in a wreckin' yard in a switchblade storm
In a wheelbarrow with nothing but revenge to keep him warm
And a half a million dollars in unmarked bills
Was the Nightstick's blanket in a February chill
And the buzzards drove a crooked sky beneath a black wing halo
He was dealin' high Chicago in the mud and stackin' the deck against a dragnet's eye
A shivering Nightstick in a miserable heap
With the siren for a lullaby singing him to sleep
Bleeding from a buttonhole torn by a slug
Fired from the barrel of a two dollar gun
That scorched a blister on the grip of a punk by now
Is learnin' whatcha have to pay to be a hero anyhow

He dressed the hole in his gut with a hundred dollar bandage
A king's ransom for a bedspread that don't amount to nothin'
Just cobweb strings on a busted ukulele
And the Nightstick leaned on a black shillelagh
With the poison of a junkie's broken promise on his lip

He staggered in the shadows screaming, "I ain't never been afraid."
And he shot out every street light on the promenade
Past the frozen ham and eggers at the penny arcade
And throwin' out handfuls of a blood stained salary
They were dead in their tracks at the shootin' gallery
And they fired off a twenty one gun salute
And from the corner of his eye he caught the alabaster orbs
From a dime a dance hall girl and stuffed a thousand dollar bill in her blouse
And caught the cruel and unusual punishment of her smile
And the Nightstick winked beneath a rain soaked brim
Ain't no one seen hide nor hair of him, see
No one but a spade on Rikers Island and me

So, if you're mad enough to listen to a full of whiskey blind man
Then you're mad enough to look beyond where the bloodhounds dare to go
And if you want to know where the Nightstick's hidin' out
You be down at the ferry landin', oh, let's say bout half past a nightmare
When it's twisted on a clock, you tell 'em Nickels sentcha
Whiskey always makes him talk
You ask for captain Charon with the mud on his kicks
He's the skipper of the deadline steamer
And she sails from the Bronx across the river Styx
And a riddle's just a ticket for a dreamer

Cos when the weathervane's sleepin' and the moon turns his back
You crawl on your belly long the railroad tracks
And cross your heart and hope to die and stick a needle in your eye
Cos he'd cut my bleedin' heart out if he found out that I squealed
Cos you see a scarecrow is just a hoodlum who marked the cards that he dealed
And pulled a gypsy switch out on the edge of Potter's Field

Licorice tattoo turned a gun metal blue 
Scrawled across the shoulders of a dying town 
Took the one-eyed Jacks across the railroad tracks 
And the scar on its belly pulled a stranger passin' through 
He's a juvenile delinquent, never learned how to behave 
But the cops'd never think to look in Burma Shave 

And the road was like a ribbon, and the moon was like a bone 
He didn't seem to be like any guy she'd ever known 
He kind of looked like Farley Granger with his hair slicked back 
She says, "I'm a sucker for a fella in a cowboy hat.
How far are you going?" Said, "Depends on what you mean."
He says, "I'm only stopping here to get some gasoline 
I guess I'm going thataway, just as long as it's paved 
And I guess you'd say I'm on my way to Burma Shave."

And with her knees up on the glove compartment 
She took out her barrettes and her hair spilled out like rootbeer 
And she popped her gum and arched her back 
Hell, Marysville ain't nothin' but a wide spot in the road 
Some night my heart pounds like thunder, don't know why it don't explode 
Cos everyone in this stinkin' town got one foot in the grave 
And I'd rather take my chances out in Burma Shave

Presley's what I go by, why don't you change the stations 
Count the grain elevators in the rearview mirror
She said, "Mister, anywhere you point this thing it got to beat the hell out of the sting 
Of going to bed with every dream that dies here every mornin' 
And so drill me a hole with a barber pole 
And I'm gonna jump in my parole just like a fugitive tonight 
Why don't you have another swig, and pass that car if you're so brave 
I wanna get there 'fore the sun comes up in Burma Shave."

And the spider web crack and the Mustang screamed 
The smoke from the tires and the twisted machine 
Just a nickel's worth of dreams and every wishbone that they saved 
Lies swindled from them on the way to Burma Shave 

And the sun hit the derrick and cast a bat wing shadow 
Up against the car door on the shotgun side 
And when they pulled her from the wreck, you know, she still had on her shades 
They say that dreams are growing wild just this side of Burma Shave

Good mornin' Mr. Snip Snip Snip, with your haircut just as short as mine
Good mornin' Mr. Snip Snip Snip, with your haircut just as short as mine
Bay rum, lucky tiger, butch wax, cracker jacks, shoe shine, jaw breaker, magazine racks
Well, hangin' round the barber shop, a side burnin' close crop, mornin' Mr. Furgeson
What's the good word witcha been, stayin' outta trouble like a good boy should
I see you're still cuttin' hair, well, still cuttin' classes
Got a couple of passes to the Ringle Bros. Barn Bail circus afternoon

You lost a little round the middle, your lookin' reel good
Sittin' on the wagon stead of under the hood
What's the low down Mr. Brown, I heard you boy's leavin' town
I bought myself a struggle buggy suckers powder blue

Throw me over sports page, Cincinnati's lookin' good
Always been for Pittsburgh, and I'll lay you ten to one
The Pirates get the pennant and the series 'fore they're done
The hair's gettin' longer, you know the skirts are gettin' shorter
I know you know you can get a cheaper haircut if you wanna cross the border
Your mama saw you smokin' bet she'd kick your ass
And put it out you juvenile and put it out fast
Well, if I had a million dollars what would I do
I'd probably be a barber, not a bum like you
Still got your paper route, now that's just fine
Now you can pay me double cos you gypped me last time

Well, don't you know that you can keep a little circus money and spend it on a girl
And just remember that I give the best haircuts in the whole wide world
I give the best haircuts in the whole wide world
Good mornin' Mr. Snip Snip Snip, with your haircut just as short as mine
Good mornin' Mr. Snip Snip Snip, with your haircut just as short
You got your haircut just as short, you got your haircut just as short as mine

When traveling abroad in the continental style
It�s my belief one must attempt to be discreet
And subsequently bear in mind your transient position
Allows you a perspective that�s unique

And though you�ll find your itinerary a blessing and a curse
Your wanderlust won�t let you settle down
And you�ll wonder how you ever fathomed that you�d be content
To stay within the city limits of a small Midwestern town

Most vagabonds I knowed don�t ever want to find the culprit
That remains the object of their long relentless quest
The obsession�s in the chasing and not the apprehending
The pursuit, you see, and never the arrest

Without fear of contradiction, bon voyage is always hollered
In conjunction with a handkerchief from shore
By a girl who drives a Rambler and furthermore
Is overly concerned that she won�t see him anymore

Planes and trains and boats and buses
Characteristically evoke a common attitude of blue
Unless you have a suitcase and a ticket and a passport
And the cargo that they�re carrying is you

A foreign affair, juxtaposed with a stateside
And domestically approved romantic fancy
Is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances, knowing
It will only be parlayed into a memory