On the outskirts of reality, just the other side of town,
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there's a doorway to the stars up an alley, two steps down.
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A juke box with a steering wheel
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plays a waltz as you get the feel
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of the place, your eyes connect your face
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to the Rainy Day Saloon.
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Out of the dark a drink appears, take a look around.
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The walls are a colour you've never seen and, what's that sound?
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An alligator in a pink tuxedo does a dance called the love torpedo.
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Is it great? Yes indeed-o,
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the Rainy Night Saloon.
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It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
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I really want to get back there soon.
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No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
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every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The bill of fare is extraordinaire, but careful what you say.
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The walls are thin, you can hear a pin
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drop and the chef's funny that way.
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So if you find a flea-collar in the soup de jour
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or a bandage in the salad you're
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you're a guest, be on your best
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behaviour in the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The health inspector came to shut it down,
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they found his car in another town,
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my, oh my, word gets around.
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It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
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I really want to get back there soon.
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No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
|
every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The head bouncer is two feet tall
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she wears wears a whistle ring.
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If you misbehave she plays a note,
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a trap door opens, you don't feel a thing.
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Once a month, maybe more,
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there's a bang and a scream from the cellar door.
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Nobody asks what's under the floor of the Rainy Night Saloon.
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It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
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The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
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I really want to get back there soon.
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No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
|
every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
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Rainy Night Saloon
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| David Wilcox (Canadian) |
