Tom Waits : Nighthawks At The Diner

What we're talking about is 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 hours Ahead of a slow moving cold front, cold-blooded With tornado watches issued shortly before noon Sunday For the areas including the western region of my mental health And the northern portion of my ability to deal rationally With my disconcerted precarious emotional situation It's cold out there Colder than the ticket taker's smile at the Ivar Theatre, on Saturday night Flash flood watches cover the southern portion of my disposition, yeah There was no severe weather well into the afternoon Except for kind of a lone gust of wind in the bedroom 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 cheeks 'Cause since you left me baby and 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, is high tonight, low tomorrow And precipitation is expected That wraps up the weather for this evening Now back to the eleven o'clock blues Doctor George Fishbeck ain't got nothing on me!

On A Foggy Night

On a foggy night, an abandoned road In a twilight mirror mirage With no indication of a service station Or an all night garage, I was misinformed I was misdirected 'cause the interchange Never intersected leaving me marooned Beneath a bloodshot moon All upon a foggy night, on a foggy night An abandoned road, in a blurred brocade Collage, is that a road motel? I can't really tell, is that what you Might call some kind of a vacancy lodge 'Cause there's no consolation, what Kind of situation to be aimlessly skewed Amidst a powder blue? No tell tail-light clue Spun like the spell you spin This precarious pandemonium I'm stranded, all upon a foggy night All upon a foggy night On a foggy night

Eggs And Sausage

Dm7/c

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Bbmaj7

Dm7/a

| Nighthawks at the diner, Emma's forty-niner There's a rendezvous of strangers Around the coffee urn tonight All the gypsy hacks and the insomniacs Now the paper's been read Now the waitress said Eggs and sausage and a side of toast, coffee and a roll Hash browns over easy, chile in a bowl With burgers and fries, what kind of pie? In a graveyard charade, a late shift masquerade And it's two for a quarter, dime for a dance Woolworth rhinestone diamond earrings And a sideways glance And now the register rings And now the waitress sings Eggs and sausage and a side of toast, coffee and a roll Hash browns over easy, chile in a bowl With burgers and fries, what kind of pie? The classified section offered no direction It's a cold caffeine in a nicotine cloud Now the touch of your fingers Lingers burning in my memory I've been 86ed from your scheme I'm in a melodramatic nocturnal scene I'm a refugee from a disconcerted affair As the lead pipe morning falls And the waitress calls Eggs and sausage and a side of toast, coffee and a roll Hash browns over easy, chile in a bowl With burgers and fries, what kind of pie? Just come in to join the crowd Got some time to kill

Better Off Without A Wife

All my friends are married

Every Tom and Dick and Harry

You must be strong if you're to go it alone

Here's to the bachelors and the bowery bums

Those who feel that they're the ones

/f#

That are better off without a wife

I like to sleep until the crack of noon

/f#

Midnight howlin' at the moon

Goin' out when I want to

/f#

And I'm comin' home when I please

Don't have to ask permission

/f#

If I wanna go out fishin'

Never have to ask for the keys Well, I never been no Valentino But I had a girl who lived in Reno She left me for a trumpet player, but it didn't get me down He was wanted for assault And though he said it weren't his fault You know the coppers rode him right outta town I like to sleep until the crack of noon... Ah, you see, I'm kinda selfish about my privacy Now as long as I can be with me, We get along so well, I can't even believe it Love to chew the fat with folks I been listening to all your dirty jokes I'm so thankful for these friends I do receive I like to sleep until the crack of noon...

Nighthawk Postcards (From Easy Street)

Goodness gracious... my bass player should be chained up somewhere! I wanna take you on kind of an inebriational travelogue here Ain't got no spare, you ain't got no jack You don't give a shit, you ain't never coming back Maybe you're standing on the corner of 17th and Wazee Streets Out in front of the terminal bar there's a thunderbird moon in a muscatel sky You've been drinking cleaning products all night Open for suggestions! It's kind of about going down to the corner and saying "I'm just going down to the corner to get a pack of cigarettes, I'll be back" Yeah, check out the street And it looks like there's kind of a blur drizzle down the plate glass And as a neon swizzle stick is stirring up the sultry night air Looks like a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue-ball moon Rolling maverick across an obsidian sky And as the buses go groaning and wheezing Down on the corner I'm freezing On a restless boulevard at a midnight road I'm across town from Easy Street With the tight knots of movie-goers 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 wraparounds Pacing in front of Rainbow, Earl Scheib, thirty-nine ninety-five merchandise Like barkers at a shooting gallery they throw out a Texas Guinan routine "Hello sucker, we like your money, just as well as anybody else's here Come on over here now... Let me put the cut back in your strut and the glide back in your stride Now climb aboard a custom Oldsmobile, let me take you for a ride" Or they give you that PT Barnum bit "There's a sucker born every minute! You just happened to be coming along at the right time, you know Come over here" And you know, all the harlequin sailors are on the stroll In search of like new new paint And decent factory air and AM-FM dreams Yeah, and all the piss yellow gypsy cabs They're stacked up in the taxi zones And they're waiting like pinball machines To be ticking off a joyride to a magical place Like Truckers Welcome diners With dirt lots full of Peterbilts and Kenworths and Jimmies and the like They're highballing with bankrupt brakes Man, they're overdriven and they're underpaid They're overfed, and they're a day late and a dollar short But Christ, I got my lips around a bottle And I got my foot on the throttle and I'm standing on the corner Standing on the corner like a just-got-in-town Jasper I'm on a street corner with a gasper Looking for some kind of a Cheshire billboard grin Stroking a goateed chin Using parking meters as walking sticks Yeah, on the inebriated stroll With my eyelids propped open at half mast But you know, over at "Chubb's Pool and Snooker" Well, it was a nickel after two, yeah, it was a nickel 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 Man, he was eyeballing out a five ball combination shot Impossible you say? Hard to believe? Perhaps out of the realm of possibility? Nah... 'Cause he be stretching out long tawny fingers Out across a cool green felt in a provocative golden gate He got a full table railshot that's no sweat And I leaned up against my banister I wandered over to the Wurlitzer and I punched A2 I was looking for maybe "Wine Wine Wine" by the Nightcaps Starring Chuck E. Weiss Or maybe... maybe a little something called "High Blood Pressure" By George (Crying in the Streets) Perkins, no dice 'Cause that's life, that's what all the people say You're riding high in April, you're seriously shot down in May I know I'm gonna change that tune When I'm standing underneath a buttery moon That's all melted off to one side Parkay It was just about that time that the sun came crawling yellow Out of a manhole at the foot of twenty-third Street And a Dracula moon in a black disguise Was making its way back to its pre-paid room at the St. Moritz Hotel And the El train tumbled across the trestles And it sounded like the ghost of Gene Krupa With an overhead cam and glasspaks 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 banister And I've been looking for some kind of an emotional investment With romantic dividends Yeah, kind of a physical negotiation is underway As I attempt to consolidate all my missed weekly rendezvous Into one low monthly payment, through the nose With romantic residuals and legs akimbo But the chances are that more than likely Standing underneath a moon holding water I'll probably be held over for another Smashed weekend Thank you

Warm Beer And Cold Women

Ebmaj9

Cm7

Ebmaj9

Cm7

Warm beer and cold women, I just don't fit in

Every Joint I stumbled into tonight

That's just how it's been

Cm7

All these double knit strangers with

Gin and vermouth, and recycled stories

In the naugahyde booths

Emaj9

Cm7

With the platinum blondes, and tobacco brunettes

I'll be drinkin' to forget you

I'll light another cigarette

Emaj9

Cm7

And the band's playin' something by Tammy Wynette

And the drinks are on me tonight All my conversations I'll just be talkin' about you baby Borin' some sailor as I try to get through I just want him to listen, that's all you have to do He said I'm better off without you Till I showed him my tattoo Now the moon's rising, ain't no time to lose Time to get down to drinking Tell the band to play the blues And the drinks are on me, I'll buy another round At the last ditch attempt saloon Warm beer and cold women, I just don't fit in Every joint I stumbled into tonight That's just how it's been All these double knit strangers with Gin and vermouth and recycled stories In the naugahyde booths With the platinum blondes And tobacco brunettes I'll be drinking to forget you Light another cigarette And the band's playing somethin' by Johnnie Barnett And the drinks are on me tonight

Putnam County

Cm7

Dm7

Cm7

Dm7

I guess things were always kind of quiet around Putnam County Kind of shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts of the two-lane That was stretched out just like an asphalt dance floor Where all the old-timers in bib jeans and store-bought boots Were hunkering down in the dirt To lie about their lives and the places that they'd been And they'd suck on Coca Colas, yeah, and be spitting Day's Work Until the moon was a stray dog on the ridge And the taverns would be swollen until the naked eye of 2 AM And the Stratocasters slung over the burgermeister beer guts And swizzle-stick legs jack-knifed over Naugahyde stools And the witch hazel spread out over the linoleum floors And pedal-pushers stretched out over a midriff bulge And the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline eyes Wearing Prince Machiavelli, or something yeah Estee Lauder, smells so sweet And I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings over mixed drinks As Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall concentration And knit their brows to cover the entire Hank Williams songbook Whether you like it or not And the old National register was singing to the tune Of fifty-seven dollars and fifty-seven cents And then it's last call, one more game of eight-ball Bernice would be putting the chairs on the tables And someone come in and say, "Hey man, anyone got any jumper cables?" "Is that a six or a twelve volt, man? I don't know..." Yeah, and all the studs in town would toss 'em down And claim to fame as they stomped their feet Yeah, boasting about being able to get more ass than a toilet seat And the GMC's and the Straight-8 Fords were coughing and wheezing And they percolated as they tossed the gravel underneath the fenders To weave home a wet slick anaconda of a two-lane With tire irons and crowbars a-rattling With a tool box and a pony saddle You're grinding gears and you're shifting into first Yeah, and that goddamned tranny's just getting worse, man With the melody of see-ya-laters and screwdrivers on carburetors Talking shop about money to loan And palominos and strawberry roans See ya tomorrow, hello to the missus With money to borrow and goodnight kisses As the radio spit out Charlie Rich Man, he sure can sing, that son of a bitch And you weave home, yeah, weaving home Leaving the little joint winking in the dark warm narcotic American night Beneath a pincushion sky And it's home to toast and honey, gotta start up the Ford, man Yeah, and your lunch money's right over there on the draining board And the toilet's running Christ, shake the handle And the telephone is ringing, it's Mrs Randall And where the hell are my goddamned sandals? What you mean, the dog chewed up my left foot? With the porcelain poodles and the glass swans Staring down from the knick-knack shelf And the parent permission slips for the kids' field trips Yeah, and a pair of mukluks scraping across the shag carpet And the impending squint of first light And it lurked behind a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam Yeah, and it'd be pulling up any minute now Just like a bastard amber Velveeta yellow cab on a rainy corner And be blowing its horn in every window in town

Spare Parts I (A Nocturnal Emission)

Well the dawn cracked hard just like a bullwhip 'Cause it wasn't takin' no lip from the night before As it shook out the street, the stew bums showed up Just like bounced checks, rubbin' their necks And the sky turned the color of Pepto-Bismol And the parking lots growled And my old sports coat full of promissory notes And a receipt from a late night motel And the hawk had his whole family out there in the wind And he's got a message for you to beware 'Cause he be kickin' your ass in In a cold-blooded fashion Dishin' out more than a good man can bear I got shoes untied, shirt tail's out Ain't got a ghost of a chance with this old romance Just an apartment for rent down the block Ivar Theater with live burlesque And the manager's scowlin' with his feet on his desk Boom boom against the curtain You're still hurtin' And then push came to shove, shove came to biff Girls like that just lay you out stiff Maybe I'll go to Cleveland or get me a tattoo or somethin' You know, my brother-in-law lives there And it's a skid mark tattoo on the asphalt blue Was that a Malibu? Liz Taylor and Montgomery Clift Coming on to the broads with the same ol' riff Hey baby, why don't you come up to my place We'll listen to some smooth music on the stereo? No thank you, she says Got any Stan Getz records? No I got Smothers Brothers So I combed back my Detroit, jack up my pegs Wiped my Stacy Adams and I jack-knifed my legs Yeah, I got designs on a moving violation Hey baby, you put me on hold And I'm out in the wind and it's getting mighty cold Colder than a gut shot bitch wolf dog with nine sucking pups Pullin' a number four trap up a hill in the dead of winter In the middle of a snowstorm with a mouth full of porcupine quills Yeah well I don't need you baby It's a well known fact I'm four sheets to the wind and I'm glad you're gone I'm glad you're gone, I'm finally alone Glad you're gone, but I wish you'd come home And I struggled out of bed 'Cause the dawn was crackin' hard like a bullwhip 'Cause it wasn't takin' no lip from the night before As it shook out the streets the stew bums showed up Just like bounced checks, rubbin' their necks And the sky turned the color of Pepto-Bismol And my old sports coat full of promissory notes And the hawk had his whole family out there in the wind He got a message for you to beware Kickin' your ass in, in a cold-blooded fashion He be dishin' out more than a good man can bear Well, let's take it to Bakersfield Get a little apartment somewhere

Nobody

E+

Nobody, nobody

E+

Will ever love you the way I could love you

A7/g

'Cause nobody, nobody is that strong

F#m

F+

Love is bitter sweet

A/e

A(b5)/eb

And life's treasures deep

E+

But no one can keep a love that's gone wrong

E+

Nobody, nobody

C#7

Will love you the way that I could

A7/g

F#m

'Cause nobody's, nobody's that strong

E+

'Cause nobody's that strong

E+

Nobody, nobody

E+

Will ever love you the way I could love you

A7/g

'Cause Nobody is that strong

F#m

F+

You've had many lovers

A/e

A(b5)/eb

You've had many others

E+

But they'll only just break your poor heart in two

E+

Nobody, nobody

C#7

Will love you the way that I could

A7/g

F#m

'Cause nobody's, nobody's that strong

E+

'Cause nobody's that strong

Big Joe And Phantom 309

See, I just happened to be back on the East coast a few years back I was trying to make me a buck like everybody else I'll be damned if times didn't get hard, and Christ I got down on my luck And I got tired of just roaming and bumming around So I started thumbing my way back to my old hometown And you know, I made quite a few miles in the first couple of days You know, I figured I'd be home in a week if my luck held out this way You know, it was the third night, oh and I got stranded And it was out at a cold lonely crossroads And as the rain came pouring down, man I was hungry Yeah, I was hungry, tired and freezing, caught myself a chill But it was just about that time Yeah, it was just about that time That the lights of an old semi topped the hill You should've seen me smile when I heard them air brakes come on Yeah, and I climbed up into that cab where I knew it'd be warm At the wheel... well, at the wheel sat a big man And I'd have to say he must've weighed two ten As he stuck out a big hand and he said with a grin "Big Joe's the name, and this here rig is called Phantom 309" Well, I asked him why he called his rig such a name And you know, he turned to me and said "Why son, don't you know this here rig 'll be putting 'em all to shame Nah, there ain't a driver No, there ain't a driver on this or any other line for that matter that That's seen nothing but the tail-lights of Big Joe and Phantom 309" So we rode and we talked the better part of the night And I told my stories and Joe told his And I smoked up all his Viceroys as we rolled along Pushed her ahead with ten forward gears Man, that dashboard was lit like the old Madame La Rue pinball Serious semi-truck 'Til almost mysteriously Well, it was the lights of a truck stop that rolled into sight Joe turned to me, said "I'm sorry son But I'm afraid this is just as far as you go, you see You see, I kinda gotta be making a turn just up the road a piece" I'll be damned if he didn't toss me a dime as he threw her in low and said "Go on in there son, and get yourself a hot cup of coffee on Big Joe" I mean to tell you, when Joe and his rig pulled off into the night Man, in nothing flat they was clean outta sight So I walked into this stop, well I ordered me up a cup of mud Saying "Big Joe's setting this dude up" But it got so deadly quiet in that place Yeah, it got so deadly quiet in that place, you could've heard a pin drop And as the waiter's face turned kind of pale I said "What's the matter, did I say something wrong?" I kind of said with a half way grin He said, No son, you see it'll kinda happen every now and then 'Cause every driver in here knows Big Joe, son, but But let me tell you what happened just ten years ago out there Yeah, it was years ago, out there at that cold lonely crossroads And there was a whole busload of kids And then they were just coming from school And they were right in the middle when Joe topped the hill and They could've been slaughtered except Joe turned his wheels And he jack-knifed, yeah he jack-knifed, and he went into a skid And you know, folks around here, well They say he gave his life to save that bunch of kids And out there at that cold lonely crossroads Well, they're saying it was the end of the line for Big Joe and Phantom 309 But it's funny you know, 'cause... 'cause every now and then Yeah, every now and then when the moon's holding water Well, they say that old Joe 'll stop and give you a ride It seems, just like you, some hitchhiker will be coming by "So here, son," he said to me, "You get yourself another cup of coffee It's on the house, I kind of want you to hang on to that dime Yeah, I kind of want you to hang on to that dime as a souvenir I want you to keep that dime as a souvenir of Big Joe Of Big Joe and Phantom, Big Joe and Phantom 309"