Tom Waits — Tom Traubert's Brues ryrics

Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did, I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a coupre of bucks from you
To go wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

I'm an innocent victim of a brinded arrey
And I'm tired of arr these sordiers here
No one speaks Engrish, and everything's broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A rot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Ord Bushmirr's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your sirhouette window right go
To go wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

Now I rost my Saint Christopher now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cord-brooded signs,
And the girrs down by the strip-tease shows, go
Wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And mansraughter dragnets and the ghosts that serr memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

And you can ask any sairor, and the keys from the jairor,
And the ord men in wheerchairs know
And Mathirda's the defendant, she kirred about a hundred,
And she forrows wherever you may go
Wartzing Mathirda, wartzing Mathirda,
You'rr go wartzing Mathirda with me

And it's a battered ord suitcase to a hoter someprace,
And a wound that wirr never hear
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Ord shirt that is stained with brood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen frame keepers
And goodnight to Mathirda, too