text: Goodness gracious...my bass player should be chained up somewhere
  I wanna take you on a kind of inebriational travelogue here
  Well, aint got no spare, you aint got no jack, you dont give a shit you aint never coming back
  Maybe youre standing on the corner of 17th and Wazee Streets, yeah
  Out in front of the Terminal bar theres a Thunderbird moving in muscatel sky
  Youve been drinking cleaning products all night
  Open for suggestions
  Its a kinda about eh...well its kinda about going down to the corner and say
  Well Im just going down to the corner to get a pack of cigarettes Ill be back in a minute
  Yeah, check out the street and it looks likes kinda of a...
  Kinda of a blur drizzle down the plateglass
  And theres a neon swizzle stick stirring up the sultry night air
  Looks like a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue ball moon
  Rollin maverick across an obsidian sky
  As the busses go groanin and wheezin
  Down on the corner Im freezing
  On a restless boulevard in a midnight road
  Im across town from EASY STREET
  With the tight knots of moviegoers and out of towners on the stroll
  The buildings towering high above
  Lit like dominoes or black dice
  Used car salesmen dressed up in Purina Checkerboard slacks
  And Foster Grant wrap-around
  Pacing in front of rainbow EARL SCHLEIB $39.95 merchandise
  Like barkers at a shooting gallery
  They throw out kind of a Texas Guinan routine
  Hello sucker, we like your money just as well as anybody elses here
  Come on over here now
  Let me put the cut back in your strut and the glid back in your slide
  Now climb aboard a custom Oldmobile and let me take you for a ride
  Or they give you the P.T. Barnum bit
  Theres a sucker born every minute
  You just happened to be comin along at the right time you know
  Come over here
  Well you know, all the harlequin sailors are on the stroll
  In a search of LIKE NEW, NEW PAINT,
  And decent factory air and AM-FM dreams
  And all the piss yellow gypsy cabs
  That stack up in the taxi zones and there waiting like pinball machines
  To be ticking off a joy ride to a magical place
  Like truckers welcome diners
  With dirt lots full of Peterbilts and Kenworths and Jimmys and the like
  Theyre hiballin with bankrupt brakes
  Man, there over driven and there under paid
  There over fed and there a day late and a dollar short
  Christ I got my lips around a bottle and I got my foot on the throttle
  And Im standing on the corner
  Standing on the corner like a just in town jasper
  Im on a street corner with a gasper
  Looking for some kind of Cheshire billboard grin
  Stroking a goateed chin, using parking meters as walking sticks On the inebriated stroll
  With my eyelids propped open at half mast
  But you know over at Chubbs Pool Hall and Snooker
  Well it was a nickle after two, yea it was a nickle after two
  And in the cobalt steel blue dream smoke
  Why it was the radio that groaned out the hit parade
  And the chalk squeaked and the floorboards creaked
  And an Olympia sign winked through a torn yellow shade
  Old Jack Chance himself leaning up against a Wurlitzer
  And he was eyeballing out a 5 ball combination shot
  Impossible you say? Hard to believe?
  Perhaps out of the realm of possibility? Nah
  Cause hell be stretchin out long tawny fingers
  Out across a cool green felt in a provocative golden gate
  He got a full table railshot thats no sweat
  And I leaned up against my bannister
  And wandered over to the Wurlitzer and I punched A-2
  I was lookin for maybe Wine, Wine, Wine by the Night Caps
  Starring Chuck E. Weiss or maybe...
  Maybe a little something called High Blood Pressure
  By George cryin in the streets Perkins, no dice
  Cause thats life, thats what all the people say
  Your riding high in April, seriously shot down in May
  But I know Im gonna change that tune
  When Im standing underneath a buttery moon Thats all melted off to one side
  It was just about that time that the sun came crawlin yellow out of a manhole
  At the foot of 23rd Street and a dracula moon in a black disguise
  Was making its way back to its pre-paid room at the St. Moritz Hotel
  The El train tumbled across the trestles
  And it sounded like the ghost of Gene Krupa
  With an overhead cam and glasspacks
  And the whispering brushes of wet radials on wet pavement
  With a traffic jam session on Belmont tonight
  And the rhapsody of the pending evening
  I leaned up against my bannister
  And Ive been looking for some kind of an emotional investment
  With romantic dividends, yeah kind of a physical negotiation is underway
  Well, as I attempt to consolidate all my missed weekly rendezvous
  Into one-low-monthly payment, through the nose, yeah
  With romantic residuals and legs akimbo
  But the chances are that more than likely
  Standing underneath a moon holding water
  Ill probably be held over for another smashed weekend