A tribute of sorts to "Long Black Veil," and other ballads of that ilk. This one's updated--now she walks the hills of San Francisco in her little black dress.
Brand new old songs of the '30s, '40s, '50s and '60s.
Lyrics
She found him on MySpace, the man of her dreams
A cool swinging dude, with the ways and the means
He swore he would love her forever, no less
And she went off to meet him in a little black dress.
In a secluded rendezvous down on Van Ness
She, dressed to kill in her little black dress
He wheedled and he weaseled ‘til she acquiesced
And he talked her right out of her little black dress.
When it was over, she started to see
That he was one cheap, phony old S.O.B.
Now a girl will do things sometimes under duress
And she strangled that bastard with her little black dress.
She walks these hills in a little black dress
From Mission Dolores and on up Van Ness
Her face drawn and sallow, her hair is a mess
And she walks these hills in a little black dress.
The policemen came and they read her her rights
And they took her downtown on that fateful night
By good cop and bad cop they made her confess
And they locked her away in her little black dress.
The crowd came, too angry to leave her in jail,
With torches and pitchforks, and Anchor Steam Ale
Crying, “Give us the Jezebel! She’ll be our guest
At a big necktie party in a little black dress.â€
They carried her off to Alamo Square
To hang her on high from a live oak tree there
“Have you any last words, ‘fore you go meet your fate?â€
She said, “Don’t go to MySpace to look for a date.â€
She was just a poor working girl all of her days
She dreamed of the swingers and their swinging ways
In the arms of the live oak, dressed for success,
She’s swinging at last in a little black dress.
Night after night, as the fog creeps in
In a little black dress she pays for her sin
She wanders and wanders, her soul cannot rest
And she walks these hills in a little black dress.
She walks these hills in a little black dress
From Mission to Market and on up Van Ness
Her eyes black and hollow, her hair is a mess
And she walks these hills in a little black dress.
From Sunset to the East Bay, her soul cannot rest
And she walks these hills in a little black dress.
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