Bones Howe - The Ghosts Of Saturday Night (After Hours At Napoleone's Pizza House) lyrics

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 peacoat pocket for a welcome twenty-five cents And the last bent bu*t 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 crying 'Fill 'er up and check that oil You know it could be your distributor and it could be your coil' The early morning final edition is on the stands And the town crier is crying 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