Låttexter:
Guy Clark

It's like when you're making conversation And you're trying not to scream And you're trying not to tell 'em You don't care what they mean And you're

That Crystelle, you temptress, you creature of back booths So accomplished at dancin' when walkin' would do There's a neon fire in your eyes reflecting

Well she ain?t got no cell phone You got to call her when she?s home All of her clocks have got hands Now don?t try to e-mail her, you?ve got to snail

Meanwhile down on Biel Street Drinking in a Biel Street bar There's a fog rollin' off the Mississippi Has anybody seen Arkansas? And the deckhands from

I ain't lookin' for trouble I can't stay here tonight I got to leave here on the double If I want to see the morning light Don't need no pistol for the

I was sittin' on the fender of someone else's truck Drinkin' Old Crow whisky, hot 7UP Out in the parking lot You can hear the band are playin' right

Me and a friend name a Streetlife Brown We got a bottle of red and we walked uptown One hand on a jug and one on time And he bet me a dollar against this

She did not want to drive She did not want to fly She did not want to wait For a bus to come by She did not want to hassle She did not want to hurry

I found comfort and courage in bottles of whiskey I swear to you friends that that life is some risky I have backed away quickly from those who tried