Gun Street Girl

Falling James in the Tahoe mud Stick around to tell us all the tale He fell in love with a Gun Street Girl and Now he's dancing in the Birmingham jail Dancing in the Birmingham jail. Took a 100 dollars off a slaughterhouse Joe Brought a bran' new michigan 20 gauge Got all liquored up on that road house corn, Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow corvette Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow corvette. Bought a second hand Nova from a Cuban Chinese Dyed his hair in the bathroom of a Texaco With a pawnshop radio, quarter past 4 Well ,he left Waukegan at the slammin' of the door He left Waukegan at the slammin' of the door Chorus: I said John, John he's long gone Gone to Indiana Ain't never coming home I said John, John he's long gone Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home. Sitting in a sycamore in St. John's Wood Soakin' day old bread in kerosene He was blue as a robin's egg brown as a hog Stayin' out of circulation till the dogs get tired Stayin' out of circulation till the dogs get tired Shadow fixed the toilet with an old trombone He never got up in the morning on a Saturday Sittin' by the Erie with a bull whipped dog Tellin' everyone he saw They went thatta way Tellin' everyone he saw They went thatta way. Now the rain's like gravel on an old tin roof And the Burlinton Northern's pullin' out of the world With a head full of bourbon and a dream in the straw. And a Gun Street Girl was the cause of it all A Gun Street Girl was the cause of it all. Riding in the shadow by the St. Joe Ridge He heard the click clack tappin' of a blind man's cane Pullin' into Baker on a New Year's Eve With one eye on the pistol the other on the door With one eye on the pistol the other on the door. Miss Charlotte took her satchel down to King Fish Row And he smuggled in a bran' new pair of alligator shoes. With her fireman's raincoat and her long yellow hair, well They tired her to a tree with a skinny millionaire They tired her to a tree with a skinny millionaire. Chorus: I said John, John he's long gone Gone to Indiana Ain't never coming home I said John, John he's long gone Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home Bangin' on a table with an old tin cup Sing I'll never kiss a Gun Street Girl again, I'll never kiss a Gun Street Girl again.