"The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House)" as written by and Tom Waits....
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 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 diamonds
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
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 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 diamonds
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
Lyrics submitted by yuri_sucupira
"The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House)" as written by Tom Waits
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC
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The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House) song meanings
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And marmalade thighs, with *scRaMBLed* yellow hair."
If I had to choose one lyric which sums up the genius of Tom Waits, I often think this would have to be it.
every time I see a woman who can fit this description this song pops into my head. Gives breakfast a new meaning too.