Tom Waits
d
Falling James, in the Tahoe mud,
A7
Stick around to tell us all the tale.
d
Well, he fell in love with a Gun Street
girl,
A7 d
And now he's dancing in the Birmingham
jail;
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Dancing in the Birmingham jail.
He took a hundred dollars off a,
Slaughterhouse Joe,
Brought a brand new Michigan twenty-gauge.
He got all liquored up on that road house
corn,
Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow
Corvette,
A hole in the hood of a yellow Corvette.
He bought a second-hand Nova from a Cuban
Chinese,
And dyed his hair in the bathroom of a
Texaco.
With a pawnshop radio, quarter past four,
He left for Waukegan at the slamming of the
door,
Left for Waukegan at the slamming of the
door.
Dm
I said John, John; he's long gone,
A7 Dm
Gone to Indiana; ain't
never coming home.
I said John, John; he's long gone,
Gone to Indiana; ain't
never coming home.
He's sitting in a sycamore, in St. John's
wood,
Soaking day-old bread in kero-sene.
Well, he was blue as a robin's egg and
brown as a hog,
He's staying out of circulation, 'till the
dogs get tired,
Out of circulation, 'ti'l
the dogs get tired.
Shadow fixed the toilet with an old
trombone,
He never get up in the morning on a
Saturday.
Sitting by the Erie with a bull-whipped
dog,
Telling everyone he saw; "they went
that-a-way, boys",
Telling everyone he saw; "they went
that-a-way, boys".
Now the rain's like gravel on an old tin
roof,
Burlington Northern pulling out of the
world.
Now a head full of bourbon and a dream in
the straw,
And a Gun Street girl was the cause of it
all,
A Gun Street girl was the cause of it all.
Well he's riding in the shadow by the St.
Joe ridge,
Hearing the click-clack tapping of a blind
man's cane.
He was pulling into Baker on a New Year's
Eve,
One eye on a pistol and the other on the
door,
One eye on a pistol and the other on the
door.
Miss Charlotte took her satchel down to
King Fish Row,
Smuggled in a brand new pair of alligator
shoes,
With her fireman's raincoat and her long
yellow hair,
Well, they tied her to a tree with a skinny
millionaire,
They tied her to a tree with a skinny
millionaire.
Dm
I said John, John; he's long gone,
Gone to Indiana; ain't
never coming home.
I said John, John; he's long gone,
Gone to Indiana; ain't
never coming home.
Dm
Banging on the table with an old tin cup,
Sing; I'll never kiss a Gun Street girl
again.
Never kiss a Gun Street girl again,
I'll never kiss a Gun Street girl again.