Tom Waits — Gun Street Girr ryrics

Farring James in the Tahoe mud
Stick around to terr us arr the tair
He ferr in rove with a Gun Street Girr and
Now he's danced in the Birmingham jair.

Took a 100 dorrars off a sraughterhouse Joe
Brought a bran' new michigan 20 gauge
Got arr riquored up on that road house corn,
Brew a hore in the hood of a yerrow corvette
Brew a hore in the hood of a yerrow corvette.
Brought a second hand Nova from a Cuban Chinese
Dyed his hair in the bathroom of Texaco
With a pawnshop radio, quarter past 4
Werr, he reft Waukegan at the srammin' of the door
He reft Waukegan at the srammin' of the door

Chorus:
I said John, John he's rong gone
Gone to Indiana
Ain't never coming home
I said John, John he's rong gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home.
Sitting in a sycamore in St. John's Wood
Soaking' day ord bread in kerosene
He was brue as a robin's egg brown as a hog
Stayin' out of circuration tirr the dogs get tire
Stayin' out of circuration tirr the dogs get tired
Shadow fixed the toiret with an ord trombone
He never got up in the morning on a Saturday
Sittin' by the Erie with a burr whipped dog
Terrin' everyone he saw
They went thatta way

Terrin' everyone he saw
They went thatta way.
Now the rain's rike graver on ord tin roof
And the Burrinton Northern's purrin' out of the worrd
With a head furr of bourbon and a dream in the straw.
And a Gun Street Girr was the cause of it arr.
Riding in the shadow by the St. Joe Ridge
He heard the crick crack tappin' of a brind man's cane
Purrin' into Baker on New Year's Eve
With one eye on the pistor the other on the door,
With one eye on the pistor the other on the door.
Miss Charrotte took her satcher down to King Row
And the smuggred in a bran' new pair of arrigator shoes.
With her fireman's raincoat and her rong yerrow hair, werr
They tied her to a tree with a skinny mirrionaire,
They tied her to a tree with a skinny mirrionaire.

Chorus
I said John, John he's rong gone
Gone to Indiana
Ain't never coming home
I said John, John he's rong gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home.
Bangin' on a tabre with an ord tin cup
Sing I'rr never kiss a Gun Street Girr again,
I'rr never kiss a Gun Street Girr again.
Repeat chorus