Gun Street Girl, Big Time, Tom Waits [160]

Sam and Martin head into the final tracks of the Big Time album struggling with the energy of this version of Gun Street Girl, as well as questioning the purpose of a narrative song that seems to be uninterested in its own narrative. Song by Song is Martin Zaltz Austwick and Sam Pay; two musicians listening to and discussing every single Tom Waits track in chronological order. website: songbysongpodcast.com twitter: @songbysongpod e-mail: [email protected] Music extracts used for illustrative/review purposes include: Gun Street Girl, Big Time, Tom Waits (1988) We think your Song by Song experience will be enhanced by hearing, in full, the songs featured in the show, which you can get hold of from your favourite record shop or online platform. Please support artists by buying their music, or using services which guarantee artists a revenue - listen responsibly. Lyrics - Gun Street Girl Falling James in the Tahoe mud Stick around to Tell us all the tale Well he fell in love With a Gun Street girl Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow corvette Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow corvette John John he's long gone Well he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home John John He's long gone Well he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home Well he took a hundred dollars off a slaughterhouse Joe Bought a brand new Michigan twenty-gauge He got all liquored up on the road house corn Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow corvette A hole in the hood of a yellow corvette John John is long gone Why he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home John John Is long gone Why he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home Miss Charlotte took her satchel Down to King Fish Row Smuggled in a brand new pair of alligator shoes With her fireman's raincoat and her long yellow hair They tied her to a tree With a skinny millionaire They tied her to a tree With a skinny millionaire John John He's long gone Why he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home John John He's long gone Why he's gone to Indiana He ain't never coming home John John John John My papa was a rollin' stone My papa was a rollin' stone Wherever he hung He said was his home When he died all He left us was alone John John John John John John Now I was banging on a table With an old tin cup Sing I'll never kiss a Gun Street girl again I will never kiss a Gun Street girl again I will never kiss a Gun Street girl again John John John John John John John John John John John John John John