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[Scat singing]
Jack was sittin’ poker faced with bullets backed with bitches
Neal hunched at the wheel, puttin’ everyone in stitches
Braggin’ bout some nurse he screwed while drivin’ through Nebraska
And when she came she honked the horn and Neal just barely missed a truck
And then he asked her if she’d like to come like that to Californy
You see, a red head in a uniform will always get you horny
Yeah, and with her hairnet and those white shoes and a name tag and a hat
She drove like Andy Granatelli and knew how to fix a flat
And Jack was almost at the bottom of his MD 2020
Neal was yellin’ out the window, tryin’ to buy some bennies
From a Lincoln full of Mexicans, and the left rear tire blowed
And the sons of bitches pretty near almost ran us off the road
And while the nurse had spilled the Manoshevitz all up and down her dress
And then she lit the map on fire, Neal just had to guess
Should we try and find a bootleg route or a fillin’ station open
The nurse was dumpin’ out her purse and lookin’ for an envelope
And Jack was out of cigarettes, and as we crossed the yellow line
The gas pumps looked like tombstones from here
And it felt lonelier than a parkin’ lot when the last car pulls away
And the moonlight dressed the double breasted foothills in the mirror
Weaving out a negligee and a black brassiere
And the Mercury was runnin’ hot and we were almost out of gas
Just then Florence Nightingale she dropped her drawers and
Stuck her fat ass half way out of the window to a Wilson Pickett tune
And shouted ‘Get a load of this’ and gave the finger to the moon
[Scat singing, including the line ‘Down at Philadelphia Bay’]
Countin’ one eyed Jacks and whistlin’ Dixie in the car
Neal was doin’ least a hundred when we saw a fallin’ star
And Florence wished that Neal would hold her ‘stead of chewin’ on
his cigar
Jack was noddin’ out and wishin’ he was in a bar
With Charlie Parker on the bandstand, and not a worry in the world
And a glass of beer in one hand and his arms around a girl
Neal was singin’ to the nurse, ‘Underneath the Harlem Moon’
And somehow you could just tell we’d be in California soon
Words and music by Tom Waits
