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

    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 your distributor and it could be your coil

    The early mornin' final edition's on the stands
    and the 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 down 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 the keeping
    of the one who is sweeping
    up the ghosts of Saturday night
  • The Ghosts Of Saturday Night
    (After Hours At Napoleone's Pizza House)

    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 your distributor and it could be your coil

    The early mornin' final edition's on the stands
    and the 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 down 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 the keeping
    of the one who is sweeping
    up the ghosts of Saturday night