I was talkin' to the judge
|
just before we left the countryside,
|
paper in his hand,
|
tryin' to find a way.
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Goin' by the book,
|
"Man, you oughtta make a serial."
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Ripped the pages out
|
'fore they pull the final curtain down.
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I remember the day
|
just like the Drumshanbo hustle.
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We couldn't hear no birds,
|
they were makin' not a sound.
|
They were tryin' to muscle in,
|
an easy way to bring the money in.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you read the contract had been signed.
|
|
Prostitution on the run,
|
'ceptin what it was last night.
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Tryin' to drain you dry,
|
couldn't get too much rope.
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Tryin' to take 'em down
|
just to see how far it all would go.
|
Wasn't goin' very far
|
and she didn't let it bring you down.
|
|
Just remember the day,
|
just like the Drumshanbo hustle.
|
I couldn't hear no birds,
|
they were makin' not a sound.
|
They were drivin' motionless
|
on the recording and the publishing.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you read the contract had been signed.
|
|
New York hooker style,
|
and the tarot and astronomy.
|
Tell you every star,
|
didn't even get your sign.
|
Well they were lookin' for a scam,
|
a little paperback novel or a little magazine,
|
but you left it all behind
|
when you pulled the rug from underneath her feet.
|
|
Just rememberin' the day,
|
Drumshanbo hustle.
|
Well you couldn't hear no birds,
|
they were makin' not a sound.
|
They were tryin' to muscle in,
|
an easy way to bring the money in.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you read the actual contract had been signed.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you heard the contract had you signed.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you heard the contract, the contract, had you signed.
|
|
-----------------
|
Drumshanbo Hustle (another version)
|
| Van Morrison |
