David Wilcox Rainy Night Saloon
On the outskirts of reality, just the other side of town,
there's a doorway to the stars up an alley, two steps down.
A juke box with a steering wheel
plays a waltz as you get the feel
of the place, your eyes connect your face
to the Rainy Day Saloon.
Out of the dark a drink appears, take a look around.
The walls are a colour you've never seen and, what's that sound?
An alligator in a pink tuxedo does a dance called the love torpedo.
Is it great? Yes indeed-o,
the Rainy Night Saloon.
It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
I really want to get back there soon.
No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
The bill of fare is extraordinaire, but careful what you say.
The walls are thin, you can hear a pin
drop and the chef's funny that way.
So if you find a flea-collar in the soup de jour
or a bandage in the salad you're
you're a guest, be on your best
behaviour in the Rainy Night Saloon.
The health inspector came to shut it down,
they found his car in another town,
my, oh my, word gets around.
It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
I really want to get back there soon.
No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
The head bouncer is two feet tall
she wears wears a whistle ring.
If you misbehave she plays a note,
a trap door opens, you don't feel a thing.
Once a month, maybe more,
there's a bang and a scream from the cellar door.
Nobody asks what's under the floor of the Rainy Night Saloon.
It's 23 hours northeast of Rangoon, the Rainy Night Saloon.
The bartender is the Man in the Moon,
I really want to get back there soon.
No sign for the clientele, the regulars all know it well,
every face has a story to tell at the Rainy Night Saloon.
