|
When the waitress is sliding down the wall |
|
You can see her chest rise and fall |
|
Her mascara runnin' thin |
|
And the pay phone is swinging against the wall |
|
Don't ask her 'bout the call |
|
You know she only trying to begin again |
|
And the manager is yelling |
|
Something about her hair being in her face |
|
Customer complainin' but he really has no case |
|
And the counter queens don't even lookup from their magazines |
|
But oh, and the waitress, oh, she stares straight ahead |
|
Saying something she never said |
|
And the waitress has them backing |
|
Has them backing against the wall till they white in the face |
|
She got 'em going now, oh, them praying |
|
But they never know of the role they play |
|
And the manager is quiet as she f-f-fumbles with the drawer |
|
No, he said no, he said, you will never get away with this |
|
No, she said, you will never get away with this' |
|
Cause today when the door opens |
|
The rain slants in |
|
There's water all over the floor |
|
Busser waves to the meter maid |
|
Who don't waive back no more |
|
We're all searching for something |
|
We'll all find a place to stay |
|
Though we may have next to nothing |
|
Oh Lord, we'll find a way |