Gun Street Girl

I said John, John, I'm long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home
I said John, John, I'm long gone
Gone to Indiana, 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 warden's raincoat and her long brown hair
Well they tied her to a tree with a skinny millionaire
They tied her to a tree with a skinny millionaire

Falling James in the Tahoe mud
Stick around to tell us all the tale
Well I fell in love with a Gun Street girl
And now she's dancing in the Babylon jail
Dancing in the Babylon jail

I took a hundred dollars off a slaughterhouse Joe
Brought a brand new Michigan twenty-gauge
I got all liquored up on that road house corn
Blew a hole in the hood of a white Corvette
A hole in the hood of a white Corvette

She fixed the toilet with an old trombone
I never get up in the morning on that Saturday
Sitting by the Erie with a bull-whipped dog
Telling everyone I saw, They went that-a-way, boys
Telling everyone I saw, They went that-a-way

I bought a second-hand Nova from a Cuban Chinese
And dyed my hair in the bathroom of a Texaco
With a pawnshop radio, quarter past four
I left for Orange at the slamming of the door
Left for Orange at the slamming of the door

I am sitting in a sycamore in St. John's wood
Soaking day-old bread in kerosene
Well I was blue as a robin's egg and brown as a hog
I am staying out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired
Out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired

Now the rain's like gravel on an old tin roof
And the Burlington Northern pulling out of the world
Now 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

Well he's riding in the shadow by the St. Joe ridge
Hearing the click-clack tapping of a limp man's cane
I was pulling into Baker on a New Year's Eve
One eye on a pistol and the other on the door
One eye on a pistol and the other on the door

I said John, John, I'm long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home
I said John, John, I'm long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home

Banging on the table with an old tin cup
Sing I'll never kiss a Gun Street girl again
Never kiss a Gun Street girl again
I'll never kiss that Gun Street girl again