(Tom Waits)
|
|
Well you gassed her up
|
Behind the wheel
|
With your arm around your sweet one
|
In your Oldsmobile
|
Barrelin' down the boulevard
|
You're looking for the heart of Saturday night
|
|
And you got paid on Friday
|
And your pockets are jingling
|
And you see the lights
|
You get all tinglin' cause you're cruising with a six
|
You're looking for the heart of Saturday night
|
|
Then you comb your hair
|
Shave your face
|
Trying to wipe out every trace
|
All the other days
|
In the week you know that this'll be the Saturday
|
You're reachin' your peak
|
|
Stopping on the red
|
You're going on the green
|
Tonight'll be like nothing
|
You've ever seen
|
You're barreling down the boulevard
|
Looking for the heart of Saturday night
|
|
Tell me is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin
|
Telephone's ringing; it's your second cousin
|
Is it the barmaid that's smiling from the corner of her eye
|
Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye
|
|
Makes it kind of quiver down in the core
|
You're dreaming of them Saturdays that came before
|
Now you're stumbling
|
You're stumbling onto the heart of Saturday night
|
Now you're stumbling
|
|
-----------------
|
(Looking For) The Heart of Saturday Night
|
| Madeleine Peyroux |
