Hell
i'd double cross my mother if it was whiskey that they payed
and
so an early bird says nightsticks 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
cause
the nightstick's heart pumps lemonade
well
whiskey keeps a blindman 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 febuary chill
and
as the buzzard drove a crooked sky
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
he was
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
what you 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 nuttin
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
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
and
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 rainsoaked brim
ain't
no one seen hide nor hair of him see
no one
but a spade on rikers island and me
and
so if you're mad enough to listen to a full of whiskey blindman
then
you're mad enough to look beyond where bloodhounds dare to go
so if
you want to know just 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
and
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
Cause
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
cause
he'd cut my bleedin heart out if he found out that i squealed
cause
you see a scarecrow's just a hoodlum
who
marked the cards that he dealed
and
pulled a gypsy switch
out
on the edge of potter's field
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |