In the wee small hours in any city USA, the denizens of the night come out and live their own lives of quiet desperation in the bus stations, diners and dives. This one's for them.
Brand new old songs of the '30s, '40s, '50s and '60s.
Lyrics
She’s kind of hung over, she’s moving real slow
She pours one more joker one more cup o’ joe
It’s hash browns to hash browns, they come and they go…
And who’s gonna clean up this mess?
Who’s gonna clean up this mess?
Up at the counter at the Erie Cafe
The man with the hook is pointing the way
They all fear my weapon, they kneel down and pray…
And who’s gonna pay for these eggs?
Who’s gonna pay for these eggs?
It’s ashes to ashes, all over town
From three-card monte to Three-Finger Brown
And the people all ride in a hole in the ground
Ashes to ashes—all fall down.
Cold Trailways Station at a quarter to dawn
The African Queen is singing a song
Night time is the right time, but I get it all wrong,
And who’s gonna love me tonight?
Who’s gonna love me tonight?
Old Scurvy Miller, that scurvy old gent
He’s wond’ring tonight where vaudeville went
Nut screws and bolts don’t make the rent
And who’s gonna laugh at these jokes?
Who’s gonna laugh at these jokes?
It’s ashes to ashes, all over town
From the seat of the pants of a burlie-que clown
From a pig in a poke to the jewel in the crown
Ashes to ashes—all fall down.
He’s mad as a hatter, he’s white as a sheet
He’s down at the Dugout, drinking it neat
Time waits for no man on Madison street
And who’s gonna buy the next round?
Who’s gonna buy the next round?
It’s ashes to ashes, all over town
From Panama Red to Alice Blue Gown
We dance—just by chance—to the band of reknown
Ashes to ashes—all fall down.
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