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Brock Zeman
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Saturday Night
Last couple of tunes in this smoky old room
I played most the goddamned night out of tune
It don't bother me none, they never listen to a word I say
I spent all my cash and most my pride
Feeling low-down and haggard from wailing all night
Hey Buddy, don't you know any number's by what's him name?
You'd better count the cash twice because the owner tried to take me for twenty last time
That old son of a bitch would probably steal pennies off a dead man's eyes
Last call for alcohol
Here's your last chance buddy to work up the balls
Cause she's fumbling with her money and her friend's tugging at her sleeve
You don't gotta go home but you can't stay here
I'll pay you back tomorrow if you spot me a beer
The waiters' wiping down the tables screaming out: you all gotta leave
And he don't look like he's kidding
And the heart of Saturday night just stopped ticking
So pack up the gear and throw it in the car
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Bum me a smoke and where the hell's my guitar?
I'll throw a twenty in the tank and I gotta bottle hidden under the seat
Just another night playing till two a.m.
Good-luck trying to wrestle this guitar from my hand
I swear to god one day it's gonna be the death of me
My buddy just two doors down it seems like he never gets any sleep
He's always good for a beer and he's always kicking if you need some company
Last call for alcohol
If it wasn't so late I'd give her a call
But I'm slurring my words and my bed is tugging at my sleeve
You don't gotta go home but you can't stay here
The ash-tray's overflowing and I'm all outta beer
I'm falling asleep at the kitchen table screaming out: you all gotta leave
And fella's I ain't kidding
The heart of Saturday night just stopped ticking
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