Every Saturday the nighthawks pile into the diner
on the corner of Marigold and Vine
Coffee for a dime, but the waitress cost extra
Pigs in a blanket and daffy on the tube;
coffee taste like late night rendezvous;
laughs and memories of Saturday night

In a booth sits a lonely blonde smoking a Chesterfield
drinking cold coffee with yesterday's cream
wearing a black and blue dress to match the color of her eye
Her man ran out with all her money, so she waits;
because it's too cold outside where the bums are fast asleep
and she's not ready for the next resurrection

A solitary sailor sits at the counter wearing a p-coat
and crackerjack hat waiting for the waitress to come back
Her rhinestone studded name tag say's, Irene;
the name of a Maxwell House coffee queen
with scrambled egg yellow in her hair
A real doll for the late night crowd

Outside the Texaco sign burns a red white and blue special
while the paper man hawks his morning late night edition
Across the street the Park and Drive
is filled with yesterdays Coupé deville
awaiting the coming dawn

Sun slowly punches another day into the sky,
spilling a carpet of diamonds from its guts
as the city sweeps away the cobwebs and decay;
all the promises of another Saturday night.

"Hey Jack, when did you get back in town?"

"Hey man, I didn't even know what town I was in."

"Didn't know what town."

"No man, what town is this this?" 

"Oh Jack, you kill me."


Memories of Saturday Night (Lyrics in description)

Guess you could say we liked it that way.
Shy sleepy city clinging to the skirt of two lanes.
The asphalt dance floor stretching out past the town
where the boys raced their junkers for the roar of the crowd.
We tried looking hard, but the girls were much harder.
We kicked the tires of out of state plates
and hung out 
at Rudy's diner.

We loved our mamas, our high school and daddy's liquor cabinet
Summer fireflies and skinny dipping in the pond we were born in
We ate fried chicken and drank cold beer
with engine grease under our fingernails and slicked back hair
Running our cars on the back roads 
for the ultimate thrill
back when your steering wheel 
still fit in my hands
(still fit in my hands)
still fit in my hands

We raced all through summer to the smell of burnt rubber
you had eyes that were blue, but often times wandered
to out of state boys racing cars on distant streets
a moth to a flame and newer bodies to beat.
You were cold in the morning and hot in the evening
your engine was tuned for a life with more meaning
You never settled for a plain gold diamond chip piston ring

Changed your face for racing stripes 
and smoother gasoline

Now sometimes late at night 
when the stars are aligned.
When the air no longer hums 
from a race nearby.
I'll hear your engines revving and rumbling
at 2:00 AM outside my front door.

Must be your memory 
shaking my walls and rattling my floors 
because that car don't run by here no more.
(that car don't run)

that car don't run 
(that car don't run)

that car don't run 
(that car don't run)

that car don't run 
(that car don't run)

Must be your memory 
shaking my walls and rattling my floors 
because that car don't run by here no more.
(that car don't run)

that car don't run
(that car don't run)

That Car Don't Run

God Gave It A Name

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