waits tom heart of saturday the ghosts of saturday night a cab combs the snake tryin to rake in that last night s fare and a solitary sailor who spends the facts of his life like small change on strangers paws his inside p coat pocket for a welcome twenty five cents and the last bent butt from a package of kents as he dreams of a waitress with maxwell house eyes and marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair her rhinestone studded moniker says irene as she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes and the texaco beacon burns on the steel belted attendant with a ring and valve special cryin fill er up and check that oil you know it could be a distributor and it could be a coil the early mornin final edition s on the stands and that town cryer s cryin there with nickels in his hands pigs in a blanket sixty nine cents eggs roll em over and a package of kents adam and eve on a log you can sink em damn straight hash browns hash browns you know i can t be late and the early dawn cracks out a carpet of diamond across a cash crop car lot filled with twilight coupe devilles leaving the town in a keeping of the one who is sweeping up the ghost of saturday night 