The Ghosts Of Saturday Night (After Hours At Napoleone's Pizza House)

A cab combs the snake

Tryin to rake in that last nights 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 filler up and check that oil
You know it could be a distributor
And it could be a coil

The early mornin final editions on the stands

And that town cryers 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 cant late be

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