Small Change

Well I got a bad liver and broken heart, yeah,
I drunk me a river since you tore me apart
And I don't have a drinking problem, 'cept when I can't get a drink
And I wish you'd a-known her, we were quite a pair,
She was sharp as a razor and soft as a prayer
So welcome to the continuing saga, she was my better half, and I was just a dog
And so here am I slumped, I've been chipped and I've been chumped on my stool
So buy this fool some spirits and libations, it's these railroad station bars
And all these conductors and porters, and I'm all out of quarters
And this epitaph is the aftermath, yeah I choose my path, hey, come on, Kath,
He's a lawyer, he ain't the one for ya
No, the moon ain't romantic, it's intimidating as hell,
And some guy's trying to sell me a watch
And so I'll meet you at the bottom of a bottle of bargain Scotch
I got me a bottle and a dream, it's so maudlin it seems,
You can name your poison, go on ahead and make some noise
I ain't sentimental, this ain't a purchase, it's a rental, and it's purgatory,
And hey, what's your story, well I don't even care
'Cause I got my own double-cross to bear

And I'll see your Red Label, and I'll raise you one more,
And you can pour me a cab, I just can't drink no more,
'Cause it don't douse the flames that are started by dames,
It ain't like asbestos
It don't do nothing but rest us assured,
And substantiate the rumors that you've heard

Well, I'm a jitterbug boy, by the shoe-shine
Resting on my laurels and my hardys too
Life of Riley on a swing shift, gears follow my drift
Once upon a time I was in show-biz too
I seen the Brooklyn Dodgers playing at Ebbets Field
Seen the Kentucky Derby too
It's fast women, slow horses, unreliable sources,
And I'm holding up the lamp-post if you want to know
I've seen the Wabash Cannonball, buddy, I've done it all
'Cause I slept with the lions and Marilyn Monroe,
Had breakfast in the eye of a hurricane
Fought Rocky Marciano, played Minnesota Fats,
Burned hundred-dollar bills, I've eaten Mulligan stew
Got drunk with Louis Armstrong, what's that old song?
I taught Mickey Mantle everything that he knows
So you ask me what I'm doing here holding up the lamp-post,
Flipping this quarter, trying to make up my mind
And if it's heads I go to Tennessee, and tails I buy a drink,
If it lands on the edge I keep talking to you
(scat)

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
Cause the telephone's out of cigarettes
And the balcony's on the make
And the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking...

And the menus are all freezing
And the lightman'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

Cause the bouncer is a sumo wrestler
Cream puff casper milk toast
And the owner is a mental midget
With the i.q. of a fencepost
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 ash-trays have retired
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

(got rained on with his own .38)

Well small change got rained on with his own .38
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the marquise weren't weeping
They went stark-raving mad
And the cabbies were the only ones
That really had it made
And his cold trousers were twisted,
And the sirens high and shrill
And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill
And the naked mannikins with their
Cheshire grins
And the raconteurs
And roustabouts said buddy
Come on in
Cause the dreams ain't broken down here now
Now ...they're walking with a limp
Now that

Small change got rained on with his own .38"
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the burglar alarm's been disconnected
And the newsmen start to rattle
And the cops are tellin' jokes
About some whore house in seattle
And the fire hydrants plead the 5th amendment
And the furniture's bargains galore
But the blood is by the jukebox
On an old linoleum floor
And it's a hot rain on 42nd street
And now the umbrellas ain't got a chance
And the newsboy's a lunatic
With stains on his pants cause

Small change got rained on with his own .38
And no one's gone over to close his eyes
And there's a racing form in his pocket
Circled "blue boots" in the 3rd
And the cashier at the clothing store
He didn't say a word as the
Siren tears the night in half
And someone lost his wallet
Well it's surveillance of assailants
If that's whatchawannacallit
And the whores hike up their skirts
And fish for drug-store prophylactics*
With their mouths cut just like
Razor blades and their eyes are like stilettos
And her radiator's steaming
And her teeth are in a wreck
Now she won't let you kiss her
But what the hell do you expect
And the gypsies are tragic and if you
Wanna to buy perfume, well
They'll bark you down like
Carneys... sell you christmas cards in june
But...

Small change got rained on with his own .38
And his headstone's
A gumball machine
No more chewing gum
Or baseball cards or
Overcoats or dreams and
Someone is hosing down the sidewalk
And he's only in his teens

Small change got rained on with his own .38
And a fistful of dollars can't change that
And someone copped his watch fob
And someone got his ring
And the newsboy got his porkpie stetson hat
And the tuberculosis old men
At the nelson wheeze and cough
And someone will head south
Until this whole thing cools off cause
Small change got rained on with his own .38
Yea small change got rained on with his own .38

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'

Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did, I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too

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.