Baby, I’m About To Blow

Tom-Waits-by-Kirk-West

I knew you’d slow me down with your pinky in the air,
but I knew you’re the one when you dipped down with your sable black hair.
I swear I hate this town and that’s how the story goes,
we got fifteen minutes before this goddamn place throws up and blows.

Moonshine, shoeshine, thirty-five dollars for a thong,
drinks on credit and I’m in the gutter singing this song.
It’s past midnight blues and you’re wearing shadow and lace,
but how can I say I love you when you’re sitting on my face?

You’re dragging your feet and slowing down time,
and the suitcase is in the backseat and everything’s on the line.
You say I’m no good for you, you say I’m just another Joe Blow,
and I don’t know who you ran into, but maybe it’s someone I know.

Now the cops are lookin and the dealer’s sharpening his knives,
and I ain’t never been lucky, and I know I ain’t got nine lives.
Now you gotta make a decision and you gotta make it quick,
’cause I’m a man on a mission and I ain’t chasin no carrot on a stick.

Cleavage, thighs, evil sparkles, miracles and hips,
you’re like Death with a sickle when you’re licking your lips.
Now your father’s in the mirror and the gun tells me he knows,
so get your head off my lap ’cause, baby, I’m about to blow.

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