Tom Waits - Live In Concert [live] (2009) by Tom Waits (보컬) on maniadb.com

Well, she's up against the register
with an apron and a spatula,
Yesterday's deliveries, tickets for the bachelors
She's a moving violation from her conk down to her shoes,
Well, it's just an invitation to the blues

And you feel just like Cagney, she looks like Rita Hayworth
At the counter of the Schwab's drugstore
You wonder if she might be single,
she's a loner and likes to mingle
Got to be patient, try and pick up a clue

She said "How you gonna like 'em,
over medium or scrambled?",
You say "Anyway's the only way", be careful not to gamble
On a guy with a suitcase and a ticket getting out of here
It's a tired bus station in an old pair of shoes
Cause it ain't nothing but an invitation to the blues

But you can't take your eyes off her, get another cup of java,
It's just the way she pours it for you,
joking with the customers
Mercy mercy, Mr. Percy, there ain't nothing back in Jersey
But a broken down jalopy of a man I left behind
And a dream that I was chasing, and a battle with booze
And an open invitation to the blues

But she used to have a sugar daddy
and a candy-apple Caddy,
And a bank account and everything,
accustomed to the finer things
He probably left her for a socialite,
and he didn't love her 'cept at night,
And then he's drunk and never even
told her that her cared
So they took the registration,
and the car-keys and his shoes
And left her with an invitation to the blues
..

But there's a Continental Trailways leaving local bus tonight, good evening
You can have my seat, I'm sticking round here for a while
Get me a room at the Squire, the filling station's hiring,
Now I can eat here every night,
what the hell have I got to lose?
Got a crazy sensation, go or stay?
now I gotta choose,
And I'll accept your invitation to the blues

Depot, depot, what am I doing here?
Depot, depot, what am I doing here?
I ain't coming, I ain't going
My confusion is showing
Outside the midnight wind is blowing Sixth Avenue
I'm gonna paint myself blue
At the depot


I watch the taxis pull up and idle
I can't claim title to a single memory
He offered me a key
Cause opportunity don't knock
He has no tongue and she cannot talk
You're gonna shuffle when you walk
At the depot


This peeping-Tom needs a peephole
And an uptempo song
To move me along
When I find this depot baby
I'm on a roll just like a pool ball baby
I'm gonna be there at the roll call maybe
At the depot


Outside the midnight wind is blowing Sixth Avenue
Oh, tell me what a poor boy to do
At the depot
I'm on a roll just like a pool ball baby
I'm gonna be there at the roll call maybe
At the depot
The depot

The piano has been drinking, my necktie is asleep
And the combo went back to New York,
the jukebox has to take a leak
And the carpet needs a haircut,
and the spotlight looks like a prison break
And the telephone's out of cigarettes,
and the balcony is on the make
And the piano has been drinking,
the piano has been drinking...

And the menus are all freezing,
and the light man's blind in one eye
And he can't see out of the other
And the piano-tuner's got a hearing aid,
and he showed up with his mother
And the piano has been drinking,
the piano has been drinking
As the bouncer is a Sumo wrestler
cream-puff casper milktoast
And the owner is a mental midget
with the I.Q. of a fence post
'Cause the piano has been drinking,
the piano has been drinking...

And you can't find your waitress with a Geiger counter
And she hates you and your friends
and you just can't get served without her
And the box-office is drooling,
and the bar stools are on fire
And the newspapers were fooling,
and the ashtrays have retired
'Cause the piano has been drinking,
the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking,
not me, not me, not me, not me,
not.. me

Smelling like a brewery, looking like a tramp,
I ain't got a quarter, got a postage stamp
Been five o'clock shadow boxing all around the town,
Talking with the old man, sleeping on the ground
Bazanti bootin al zootin al hoot and Al Cohn
Sharing this apartment with a telephone pole
And a fish-net stocking, spike-heel shoes,
Strip tease, prick tease, car keys blues
And the porno floor show, live nude girls,
Dreamy and creamy and brunette curls
Chesty Morgan and Watermelon Rose
Raise my rent and take off all your clothes
With trench coats, magazines, a bottle full of rum,
She's so good, make a dead man come
Pasties and a G-string, beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass and a Buffalo squeeze
Wrinkles and Cherry and Twinkie and Pinkie and Fifi live from Gay Paree
Fanfares, rim shots, back stage, who cares, all this hot burlesque for me
(scat)

Cleavage, cleavage, thighs and hips
>From the nape of her neck to the lipstick lips
Chopped and channeled and lowered and lewd
And the cheater slicks and baby moons
She's a-hot and ready, creamy and sugared
And the band is awful and so are the tunes
(scat)

Crawling on her belly, and shaking like jelly,
And I'm getting harder than Chinese algebrassieres
And cheers from the (hmm) compendium here
"Hey sweetheart" they're yelling for more
You're squashing out your cigarette butts on the floor
And I like Shelly, and you like Jane
And what was the girl with the snakeskin's name?
And it's an early-bird matinee, come back any day,
Get you a little something that you can't get at home
Get you a little something that you can't get at home
It's pasties and a G-string, beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass and a Buffalo squeeze
Popcorn, front row, higher than a kite, and I'll be back tomorrow night,
And I'll be back tomorrow night
(scat

Well you hate those diesels rollin'
And those Friday nights out bowlin'
When he's off for a twelve hour lay over night

You wish you had a dollar
For every time he hollered
That he's leavin'
And he's never comin' back

But the curtain-laced billow
And his hands on your pillow
And his trousers are hangin' on the chair

You're lyin' through your pain, babe
But you're gonna tell him he's your man
And you ain't got the courage to leave

He tells you that you're on his mind
You're the only one he's ever gonna find
It's kind-a special, understands his complicated soul...

But the only place a man can breathe
And collect his thoughts is
Midnight and flyin' away on the road.

But you've packed and unpacked
So many times you've lost track
And the steam heat is drippin' off the walls

But when you hear his engines
You're lookin' through the window in the kitchen and you know
You're always gonna be there when he calls

'Cause he's a truck drivin' man
Stoppin' when he can
He's a truck drivin' man
Stoppin' when he can

Friday left me fumblin' with the blues
And it's hard to win when you always lose
Because the nightspots spend your spirit
Beat your head against the wall
Two dead ends and you've still got to choose


You know the bartenders
They all know my name
And they catch me when I'm pulling up lame
And I'm a pool-shooting-shimmy-shyster shaking my head
When I should be living clean instead


You know the ladies I've been seeing off and on
Well they spend your love and then they're gone
You can't be lovin' someone who is savage and cruel
Take your love and then they leave on out of town
No they do


Well now fallin' in love is such a breeze
But its standin' up that's so hard for me
I wanna squeeze you but I'm scared to death I'd break your back
You know your perfume
Well it won't let me be


You know the bartenders all know my name
And they catch me when I'm pulling up lame
And I'm a pool-shooting-shimmy-shyster shaking my head
When I should be living clean instead


Come on baby
Let your love light shine
Gotta bury me inside of your fire
Because your eyes are 'nough to blind me
You're like a-looking at the sun
You gotta whisper tell me I'm the one
Come on and whisper tell me I'm the one
Gotta whisper tell me I'm the one
Come on and whisper tell me I'm the one

Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye
Hush-a bye my baby, no need to be crying.
You can burn the midnight oil with me as long as you will
Stare out at the moon upon the windowsill, and dream...

Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye
Hush-a bye my baby, no need to be crying.
There's dew drops on the window sill, gumdrops in your head
Slipping into dream land, you're nodding your head, so dream...

Dream of West Virginia, or of the British Isles
'Cause when you are dreaming, you see for miles and miles.
When you are much older, remember when we sat
At midnight on the windowsill, and had this little chat
And dream, come on and dream, come on and dream, and dream, and dream...

Well we are talking about late night and early morning low clouds
With a chance of fog, chance of showers into the afternoon
With variable high cloudiness and gusty winds
Gusty winds at times around the corner of sunset and Alvarado
Yeah I know things are tough all over

When the thunder storms start increasing over the southeast
And south central portions of my apartment, I get upset
And a line of thunderstorms was developing in the early morning
I was ahead of a slow moving cold front, cold blooded

With, with tornado watches issued shortly before noon Sunday
For the areas including, the western region of my mental health
And the northern portions of my ability to deal rationally with my
Disconcerted precarious emotional situation
It's cold out there, colder than a ticket taker's smile at the Ivar theater
On a Saturday night

Flash flood watches covered the southern portion of my disposition


There was no severe weather well into the afternoon
Except for kind of a lone gust of wind in the bedroom

In a high pressure zone
Covering the eastern portion of a small suburban community
With a 1034 millibar high pressure zone
And a weak pressure ridge extending from my eyes down to my cheek
'Cause since you left me baby, put the vice grips on my mental health
Well the extended outlook for an indefinite period of time
Until you come back to me baby
It is high tonight, low tomorrow, and precipitation is expected

That wraps up the weather for this evening
Now back to the 11 o'clock news
I'm enjoying this fish bag ain't got none on me

I don't mind working, 'cause I used to be jerking off most of my time in bars,
I've been a cabbie and a stock clerk and a soda-fountain jock-jerk
And a manic mechanic on cars.
It's nice work if you can get it, now who the hell said it?
I got money to spend on my gal,
But the work never stops, and I'll be busting my chops
Working for Joe and Sal.


And I can't wait to get off work and see my baby,
She said she'd leave the porch light on for me.
I'm disheveled and I'm disdainful and I'm distracted and it's painful,
But this job sweeping up here is gainfully employing me tonight.


Well Tom, do this and Tom, do that, and Tom, don't do that,
Count the cash, clean the oven, dump the trash,
Oh your loving is a rare and a copacetic gift,
And I'm a moonlight watch manic, it's hard to be romantic
Sweeping up over by the cigarette machine,
Sweeping up over by the cigarette machine...


I can't wait to get off work and see my baby
She'll be waiting up with a magazine for me.
Clean the bathrooms and clean 'em good, oh your loving I wish you would
Come down here and sweep a-me off my feet, this broom'll have to be my baby,
If I hurry, I just might get off before the dawn's early light

Diamonds on my windshield
Tears from heaven
Pullin' in town on the Interstate
Pullin' a steel train in the rain

Wind bites my cheek
Through the wing
Fast flyin' freeway drive
It always makes me sing

Duster tryin' to change my tune
Pullin' up fast on the right
Rollin' restlessly
Twenty-four hour moon

Wisconsin hiker with a cue-ball head
Wishin' he's home in a Wiscosin bed
Fifteen feet of snow in the East
Colder than a well digger's ass

And oceanside it ends the ride
San Clemente comin' up
Sunday desperadoes slip by
Check station close and you cruise by with a dry back

Orange drive-in the neon billin'
Theater's fillin' to the brim
Slave girls and hot spurn
Bucket full of sin

Metropolitan area
Interchange and connections
Fly-by-nights from riverside
Black and white planes out of state, runnin' a little late

Sailors jockey for the fast lane
One O one don't miss it
Rollin' hills and concrete fields
Broken line on your mind

The eights go east and the fives go north
And the merging nexus back and forth
You see your sign, you cross the line
Signal with a blink

Radio's gone off the air and it gives you time to think
Ease it out and you creep across
In a section lights froze out
Hear the rumble as you fumble for a cigarette

Blazin' through this neon jungle
Remember someone that you met
And one more block, the engine talks in whispers,"Home at last"
Whispers, whispers, whispers, "Home at last, home at last"

Well this gigolo's jumping salty, ain't no trade out on the streets,
Half past the unlucky, and the hawk's a front-row seat
Dressed in full orchestration, stage-door Johnny's got to pay,
And sent him home talking 'bout the one that got away

Could have been on Easy Street, could have been a wheel,
With irons in the fire and all them business deals
But the last of the big-time losers shouted before he drove away,
"I'll be right back, as soon as I crack the one that got away"

Well, the ambulance drivers, they don't give a shit,
They just want to get off work, and
The short stop and the victim are already gone berserk
And the shroud-tailor measures him for a deep-six holiday,
The stiff is froze, the case is closed on the one that got away

Now Jim Crow's directing traffic with them cemetery blues,
With them peculiar-looking trousers, them old Italian shoes
And a wooden kimono that was all ready to drop in San Francisco Bay
But he's mumbling something all about the one that got away

And Costello was the champion at the St. Moritz Hotel,
And the best this side of Fairfax, reliable sources tell
But his reputation is at large, and he's at Ben Frank's every day,
Waiting for the one that got away

He got a snakeskin sportshirt, and he looks like Vincent Price,
With a little piece of chicken, and he's carving off a slice
Someone tipped her off, and she'll be doing a Houdini now any day
She shook his hustle, and a Greyhound bus'll take the one that got away

Well, Andre's at the piano behind the Ivar in the sewers,
With a buck a shot for pop tunes, and a fin for guided tours
He could-a been in "Casa Blanca", he stood in line out there all day
Now he's spilling whiskey and learning songs about a one that got away

Well I've lost my equilibrium and my car keys and my pride,
The tattoo parlor's warm, and so I hustle there inside
And the grinding off the buzz-saw, "What you want that thing to say?"
I says, "Just don't misspell her name, buddy, she's the one that got away