[sspadowsky]

To the real muthaphukkin' G's:

A cab combs the snake
Tryin' to rake in that last night's fare
And a solitary sailor
Spends the facts of his life like small change on strangers
Paws his inside P-coat pocket
For a welcome 25 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 whisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes

And the Texaco bacon burns on
And a steel-belted attendant with a ring-and-valve special
Is cryin', "Fill 'er up, and check that oil
You know, it could be your distributor, and it could be your coil"

Early mornin' final edition's on the stand
And the town crier's cryin' there with nickels in his hand
Pigs in a blanket, 69 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 diamonds
Across a cash-crop car lot filled with twilight Coupe DeVilles
Leaving the town in the keeping
Of the one who is sweeping
Up the Ghosts of Saturday Night