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Well she's up against the register with an apron and a spatula, |
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Yesterday's deliveries, tickets for the bachelors |
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She's a moving violation from her conk down to her shoes, |
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Well, it's just an invitation to the blues |
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And you feel just like Cagney, she looks like Rita Hayworth |
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At the counter of the Schwab's drugstore |
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You wonder if she might be single, she's a loner and likes to mingle |
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Got to be patient, try and pick up a clue |
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She said "How you gonna like 'em, over medium or scrambled?", |
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You say "Anyway's the only way", be careful not to gamble |
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On a guy with a suitcase and a ticket getting out of here |
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It's a tired bus station and an old pair of shoes |
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This ain't nothing but an invitation to the blues |
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But you can't take your eyes off her, get another cup of java, |
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It's just the way she pours it for you, joking with the customers |
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Mercy mercy, Mr. Percy, there ain't nothing back in Jersey |
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But a broken-down jalopy of a man I left behind |
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And the dream that I was chasing, and a battle with booze |
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And an open invitation to the blues |
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But she used to have a sugar daddy and a candy-apple Caddy, |
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And a bank account and everything, accustomed to the finer things |
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He probably left her for a socialite, and he didn't 'cept at night, |
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And then he's drunk and never even told her that he cared |
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So they took the registration, and the car-keys and her shoes |
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And left her with an invitation to the blues |
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'Cause there's a Continental Trailways leaving local bus tonight, good evening |
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You can have my seat, I'm sticking round here for a while |
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Get me a room at the Squire, the filling station's hiring, |
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And I can eat here every night, what the hell have I got to lose? |
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Got a crazy sensation, go or stay? now I gotta choose, |
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And I'll accept your invitation to the blues |