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Well, they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night |
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Now, they blew up his house, too |
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Down on the boardwalk, they're gettin' ready for a fight |
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Gonna see what them racket boys can do |
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Now, there's trouble busin' in from outta state |
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And the D.A. can't get no relief |
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Gonna be a rumble out on the promenade |
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And the gamblin' commission's hangin' on by the skin of its teeth |
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Well now, everything dies, baby, that's a fact |
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But maybe everything that dies someday comes back |
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Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty |
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And meet me tonight in Atlantic City |
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Well, I got a job, tried to put my money away |
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But I got debts no honest man can pay |
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So I drew what I had from the Central Trust |
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And bought us two tickets on that City Coast bus |
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Well now, everything dies, baby, that's a fact |
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But maybe everything that dies someday comes back |
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Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty |
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And meet me tonight in Atlantic City |
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Now, our luck may have died, and our love may be cold |
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But with you, forever I'll stay |
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I'm goin' out where the sands turn to gold |
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So put on your stockings, baby, it's gettin' cold |
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And everything dies, baby, that's a fact |
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But maybe everything that dies someday comes back |
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Put your hair up nice and sit up pretty |
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And meet me tonight in Atlantic City |
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Meet me tonight in Atlantic City |
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Meet me tonight in Atlantic City |
