Nighthawks at the Diner


©1975 Fifth Floor Music, Inc. (ASCAP)
All selections by Tom Waits unless noted.


Tracks






(Opening Intro)


[Instrumental/Monologue]



Emotional Weather Report


late night and early morning low clouds
with a chance of fog
chance of showers into the afternoon
with variable high cloudiness
and gusty winds, gusty winds
at times around the corner of
Sunset and Alvorado
things are tough all over
when the thunder storms start
increasing over the southeast
and south central portions
of my apartment, I get upset
and a line of thunderstorms was
developing in the early morning
ahead of a slow moving coldfront
cold blooded
with tornado watches issued shortly
before noon Sunday, for the areas
including, the western region
of my mental health
and the northern portions of my
ability to deal rationally with my
disconcerted precarious emotional
situation, it's cold out there
colder than a ticket taker's smile
at the Ivar Theatre, on a Saturday night
flash flood watches covered the
southern portion of my disposition
there was no severe weather well
into the afternoon, except for a lone gust of
wind in the bedroom
in a high pressure zone, covering the eastern
portion of a small suburban community
with a 103 and millibar high pressure zone
and a weak pressure ridge extending from
my eyes down to my cheeks cause since
you left me baby
and put the vice grips on my mental health
well the extended outlook for an
indefinite period of time until you
come back to me baby is high tonight
low tomorrow, and precipitation is
expected



On a Foggy Night


On a foggy night, an abandoned road
in a twilight mirror mirage
with no indication of a service station
or an all night garage, I was misinformed
I was misdirected cause the interchange
never intersected leaving me marooned
beneath a bloodshot moon
all upon a foggy night, on a foggy night
an abandoned road, in a blurred brocade
collage, is that a road motel?
I can't really tell, is that what you
might call some kind of a vacancy lodge
cause there's no consolation, what
kind of situation to be aimlessly skewed
amidst a powder blue?
no tell tail light clue
spun like the spell you spin
this precarious pandemonium
I'm stranded, all upon a foggy night
all upon a foggy night
on a foggy night



Eggs & Sausage
(In a Cadillac With Susan Michelson)


Nighthawks at the diner
of Emma's 49er, there's a rendezvous
of strangers around the coffee urn tonight
all the gypsy hacks, the insomniacs
now the paper's been read
now the waitress said

eggs and sausage and a side of toast
coffee and a roll, hash browns over easy
chile in a bowl with burgers and fries
what kind of pie?

In a graveyard charade, a late shift masquerade
2 for a quarter, dime for a dance
with Woolworth rhinestone diamond
earrings, and a sideway's glance
and now the register rings
and now the waitress sings

(chorus)

the classified section offered no direction
it's a cold caffeine in a nicotine cloud
now the touch of your fingers
lingers burning in my memory
I've been 86ed from your scheme
I'm in a melodramatic nocturnal scene
I'm a refugee from a disconcerted affair
as the lead pipe morning falls
and the waitress calls

(chorus)



Better Off Without a Wife


All my friends are married
every Tom and Dick and Harry
you must be strong
to go it alone
here's to the bachelors
and the bowery bums
and those who feel that they're the ones
who are better off without a wife

I like to sleep until the crack of noon
midnight howlin' at the moon
goin' out when I wanto, comin' home when I please
I don't have to ask permission
if I want to go out fishing
and I never have to ask for the keys

never been no Valentino
had a girl who lived in Reno
left me for a trumpet player
didn't get me down
he was wanted for assault
though he said it weren't his fault
well the coppers rode him right
out of town

(chorus)

selfish about my privacy
as long as I can be with me
we get along so well I can't believe
I love to chew the fat with folks
and listen to all your dirty jokes
I'm so thankful for these friends
I do receive

(chorus)



Nighthawk Postcards (From Easy Street)


There's a blur drizzle down the plateglass
as a neon swizzle stick stirrin up the sultry night air
and a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue ball moon
rollin' maverick across an obsidian sky
as the busses go groanin' and wheezin',
down on the corner I'm freezin';
on a restless boulevard at a midnight road
I'm across town from EASY STREET
with the tight knots of moviegoers and out of towners
on the stroll
and the buildings towering high above
lit like dominoes or black dice
all the used car salesmen dressed up in
Purina Checkerboard slacks
and Foster Grant wrap-around,
pacing in front of EARL SCHLEIB
$39.95 merchandise
like barkers at a shootin' gallery
they throw out kind of a Texas Guinan routine
"Hello sucker, we like your money
just as well as anybody else's here"
or they give you the P.T. Barnum bit
"There's a sucker born every minute
you just happened to be comin' along at the right time"
come over here now
you know... all the harlequin sailors are on the stroll
in a search of "LIKE NEW," "NEW PAINT,"
decent factory air and AM-FM dreams
and the piss yellow gypsy cabs
stacked up in the taxi zones waitin' like
pinball machines
to be ticking off a joy ride to a magical place
waitin' in line like "truckers welcome" diners
with dirt lots full of
Peterbilts, Kenworths, Jimmy's and the like, and
they're hiballin' with bankrupt brakes, over driven
under paid, over fed, a day late and a dollar short
but Christ I got my lips around a bottle and
my foot on the throttle and I'm standin' on the corner
standin' on the corner like a "just in town"
jasper, on a street corner with a gasper lookin'
for some kind of Cheshire billboard grin
stroking a goateed chin, and using parking meters
as walking sticks on the inebriated stroll
with my eyelids propped open at half mast
but you know... over at Chubb's Pool Hall and Snooker
it was a nickle after two, yea it was a nickle after two
and in the cobalt steel blue dream smoke, it
was the radio that groaned out the hit parade
and the chalk squeaked, the floorboards creaked
and an Olympia sign winked through a torn yellow
shade, old Jack Chance himself leanin' up against
a Wurlitzer and eyeballin' out a 5 ball combination shot
impossible you say? ...hard to believe?, perhaps
out of the realm of possibility? naaaa
he be stretchin' out long tawny fingers out across a
cool green felt with a provocative golden gate
and a full table railshot that's no sweat and I leaned
up against my bannister and wandered over to the
Wurlitzer and I punched A-2 I was lookin' for
something like Wine, Wine, Wine by the Night Caps
starring Chuck E. Weiss or High Blood Pressure
by George (cryin' in the streets) Perkins - no dice
"that's life," that's what all the people say ridin' high
in April, seriously shot down in May, but I know I'm
gonna change that tune when I'm standing underneath
a buttery moon that's all melted off to one side
It was just about that time that the sun
came crawlin' yellow out of a manhole
at the foot of 23rd Street
and a dracula moon in a black disguise
was making its way back to its
pre-paid room at the St. Moritz Hotel (scat)
and the El train came tumbling
across the trestles and it sounded
like the ghost of Gene Krupa
with an overhead cam and glasspacks
and the whispering brushes of wet radials
on a wet pavement and there's a
traffic jam session on Belmont tonight
and the rhapsody of the pending
evening, I leaned up against
my bannister and I've been looking
for some kind of an emotional
investment with romantic dividends
kind of a physical negociation
is underway
as I attempt to consolidate all my
missed weekly payments, into
one-low-monthly payment
through the nose
with romantic residuals and leg akimbo
but the chances are more than likely I'll probably
be held over for another smashed weekend



Warm Beer and Cold Women


Warm beer and cold women, I just don't fit in
every joint I stumbled into tonight
that's just how it's been
all these double knit strangers with
gin and vermouth and recycled stories
in the naugahyde booths

with the platinum blondes
and tobacco brunettes
I'll be drinkin' to forget you
lite another cigarette
and the band's playin' something
by Tammy Wynette
and the drinks are on me tonight

all my conversations I'll just be
talkin' about you baby
borin' some sailor as I try to get through
I just want him to listen
that's all you have to do
he said I'm better off without you
till I showed him my tattoo

now the moon's rising
ain't got no time to lose
time to get down to drinking
tell the band to play the blues
drink's are on me, I'll buy another round
at the last ditch attempt saloon

warm beer and cold women, I just don't fit in
every joint I stumbled into tonight
that's just how it's been
all these double knit strangers with
gin and vermouth and recycled stories
in the naugahyde booths

with the platinum blondes
and tobacco brunettes
I'll be drinking to forget you
lite another cigarette
and the band's playing somethin'
by Johnnie Barnett
and the drinks are on me tonight



Putnam County


I guess things were always quiet
around Putnam County
kind of shy and sleepy as it clung to the skirts
of the 2-lane, that was stretched out like an
asphalt dance floor where all the oldtimers would
hunker down in bib jeans and store bought boots
lyin' about their lives and the places that they'd been
suckin' on Coca Colas and be spittin' Days Work
they's be suckin' on Coca Colas
and be spittin' Day's Work
until the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and
the taverns would be swollen until the naked eye
of 2am, and the Stratocaster guitars slung over
Burgermeister beer guts, and the swizzle stick legs
jacknifed over naugahyde stools and the
witch hazel spread out over the linoleum floors,
the pedal pushers stretched out over midriff bulge
and the coiffed brunette curls over Maybelline eyes
wearing Prince Machiavelli, Estee Lauder,
smells so sweet
I elbowed up at the counter with mixed feelings
over mixed drinks
and Bubba and the Roadmasters moaned in pool hall
concentration as they knit their brows to
cover the entire Hank Williams Song Book
and the old National register was singing to the
tune of $57.57
until last call, one last game of 8 ball
and Berneice would be putting the chairs on the tables,
someone come in say "Hey man, anyone got
any Jumper Cables, is that a 6 or a 12 volt?"
and all the studs in town would toss 'em down
and claim to fame as they stomped their feet
boasting about being able to get more ass
than a toilet seat.
And the GMCs and the Straight 8 Fords
were coughing and wheezing and they
perculated as they tossed the gravel
underneath the fenders to weave home
a wet slick anaconda of a two lane
with tire irons and crowbars a rattlin'
with a tool box and a pony saddle
you're grinding gears, shifting into first
yea and that goddam tranny's just getting worse
with the melodies of "see ya later"
and screwdrivers on carburettors
talkin' shop about money to loan
and palominos and strawberry roans
See ya tomorrow, hello to the Mrs.
money to borrow and goodnight kisses
the radio spittin' out Charlie Rich
sure can sing that sonofabitch
and you weave home, weavin' home
leaving the little joint winking in the
dark warm narcotic American night
beneath a pin cushion sky and it's
home to toast and honey, start
up the Ford, your lunch money's there on the
draining board, toilet's runnin' shake the
handle, telephone's ringin' it's Mrs Randal
where the hell are my goddam sandals
and the porcelain poodles and the glass swans
staring down from the knick knack shelf
with the parent permission slips for the
kids' field trips
pair of Muckalucks scraping across
the shag carpet
and the impending squint of
first light, that lurked behind
a weeping marquee in downtown Putnam
and would be pullin' up any minute now
just like a bastard amber
Velveeta yellow cab on a rainy corner
and be blowin' its horn, in every window
in town.



Spare Parts I (A Nocturnal Emission)
Written by Tom Waits and Chuck E. Weiss



Well the damn cracked hard just like a bull whip
cause it wasn't takin' no lip from the night before
as it shook out the street, the stew bums showed up
just like bounced checks, rubbin' their necks
and the sky turned the color of Pepto-Bismol
and the parking lots growled
and my old sports coat full of promissory notes
and a receipt from a late night motel
and the hawk had his whole family out
there in the wind, and he's got a message
for you to beware cause he be kickin' your
ass in, in a cold blooded fashion
dishin' out more than a good man can bear
I got shoes untied, shirt tail's out, ain't got a
ghost of a chance with this old romance
just an apartment for rent down the block
Ivar Theater with live burlesque
and the manager's scowlin', feet on his desk
boom boom against the curtain
you're still hurtin'
and then push came to shove, shove came to biff
girls like that just lay you out stiff
maybe I'll go to Cleveland or
get me a tattoo or somethin', my brother
in law's there
skid mark tattoo on the asphalt blue
was that a Malibu
Liz Taylor and Montgomery Clift
cumming on to the broads with the
same ol' riff. Hey baby come up to
my place, we'll listen to some
smooth music on the stereo, no thank you
got any Stan Getz records
no I got Smothers Brothers
so I combed back my Detroit
jack up my pegs, wiped my Stacy Adams
jacknifed my legs, yea I got designs
on a moving violation
hey baby, you put me on hold and I'm
out in the wind and it's getting
mighty cold...
colder than a gut shot bitch wolf dog
with 9 sucking pups pullin' a 4 trap
up a hill in the dead of winter
in the middle of a snowstorm
with a mouth full of porcupine quills

(scat)

yea well I don't need you baby
It's a well known fact
I'm 4 sheets to the wind
I'm glad you're gone
I'm glad you're gone
I'm finally alone
glad you're gone, but I
wish you'd come home
and I struggled out of bed
cause the dawn was crackin' hard like a bullwhip
cause it wasn't takin' no lip from the night before
as it shook out the streets the stew bums
showed up just like bounced checks
rubbin' their necks, and the sky turned the
color of Pepto-Bismol
and my old sports coat full of promissory notes
and the hawk had his whole family out there
in the wind, he got a message for you to beware
kickin' your ass in, in a cold blooded fashion
he be dishin' out more than a good man can bear
well hey baby let's take it to Bakersfield
get a little apartment somewhere



Nobody


Nobody, Nobody
will ever love you
the way I could love you
cause nobody is that strong
love is bitter sweet
and life's treasures deep
but no one can keep
a love that's gone wrong

Nobody, Nobody
will ever love you
the way I could love you
cause nobody's that strong
cause nobody's that strong

Nobody, Nobody
will ever love you
the way I could love you
cause nobody is that strong
you've had many lovers
you'll have many others
but they'll only just break
your poor heart in two

Nobody, Nobody
will ever love you
the way I could love you
cause nobody's that strong
cause nobody's that strong



Big Joe and Phantom 309
Written by Tommy Faile



Well you see I happened to be back on the east coast
a few years back tryin' to make me a buck
like everybody else, well you know
times get hard and well I got down on my luck
and I got tired of just roamin' and bummin'
around, so I started thumbin' my way
back to my old hometown
you know I made quite a few miles
in the first couple of days, and I
figured I'd be home in a week if my
luck held out this way
but you know it was the third night
I got stranded, it was out at a cold lonely
crossroads, and as the rain came
pouring down, I was hungry, tired
freezin', caught myself a chill, but
it was just about that time that
the lights of an old semi topped the hill
you should of seen me smile when I
heard them air brakes come on, and
I climbed up in that cab where I
knew it'd be warm at the wheel
well at the wheel sat a big man
I'd have to say he must of weighed 210
the way he stuck out a big hand and
said with a grin "Big Joe's the name
and this here rig's called Phantom 309"
well I asked him why he called his
rig such a name, but he just turned to me
and said "Why son don't you know this here
rig'll be puttin' 'em all to shame, why
there ain't a driver on this
or any other line for that matter
that's seen nothin' but the taillights of Big Joe
and Phantom 309"
So we rode and talked the better part of the night
and I told my stories and Joe told his and
I smoked up all his Viceroys as we rolled along
he pushed her ahead with 10 forward gears
man that dashboard was lit like the old
Madam La Rue pinball, a serious semi truck
until almost mysteriously, well it was the
lights of a truck stop that rolled into sight
Joe turned to me and said "I'm sorry son
but I'm afraid this is just as far as you go
You see I kinda gotta be makin' a turn
just up the road a piece," but I'll be
damned if he didn't throw me a dime as he
threw her in low and said "Go on in there
son, and get yourself a hot cup of coffee
on Big Joe"
and when Joe and his rig pulled off into
the night, man in nothing flat they was
clean outa sight
so I walked into the old stop and
ordered me up a cup of mud sayin'
"Big Joe's settin' this dude up" but
it got so deathly quiet in that
place, you could of heard a pin drop
as the waiter's face turned kinda
pale, I said "What's the matter did
I say somethin' wrong?" I kinda
said with 8a half way grin. He said
"No son, you see It'll happen every
now and then. You see every driver in
here knows Big Joe, but let me
tell you what happened just 10 years
ago, yea it was 10 years ago
out there at that cold lonely crossroads
where you flagged Joe down, and
there was a whole bus load of kids
and they were just comin' from school
and they were right in the middle when
Joe topped the hill, and could
have been slaughtered except
Joe turned his wheels, and
he jacknifed, and went
into a skid, and folks around here
say he gave his life to save that bunch
of kids, and out there at that cold
lonely crossroads, well they say it
was the end of the line for
Big Joe and Phantom 309, but it's
funny you know, cause every now and then
yea every now and then, when the
moon's holdin' water, they say old Joe
will stop and give you a ride, and
just like you, some hitchhiker will be
comin' by"
"So here son," he said to me, "get
yourself another cup of coffee, it's on the
house, you see I want you to hang on
to that dime, yea you hang on to that
dime as a kind of souvenir, a
souvenir of Big Joe and Phantom 309"



Spare Parts II and Closing


[Instrumental]