Song | Swordfishtrombone |
Artist | Tom Waits |
Album | Swordfishtrombones |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Waits | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and modified Brougham DeVille | |
and a pair of legs that opened up | |
like butterfly wings | |
and a mad dog that wouldn't | |
sit still | |
he went and took up with a Salvation Army | |
Band girl | |
who played dirty water | |
on a swordfishtrombone | |
he went to sleep at the bottom of | |
Tenkiller lake | |
and he said "gee, but it's | |
great to be home." | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and an idea for a fireworks display | |
and he knew that he'd be ready with | |
a stainless steel machete | |
and a half a pint of Ballentine's | |
each day | |
and he holed up in room above a hardware store | |
cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears | |
and he put a spell on some | |
poor little Crutchfield girl | |
and stayed like that for 27 years | |
Well he packed up all his | |
expectations he lit out for California | |
with a flyswatter banjo on his knee | |
with a lucky tiger in his angel hair | |
and benzedrine for getting there | |
they found him in a eucalyptus tree | |
lieutenant got him a canary bird | |
and shaked her head with every word | |
and Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song | |
and he got 20 years for lovin' her | |
from some Oklahoma governor | |
said everything this Doughboy | |
does is wrong | |
Now some say he's doing | |
the obituary mambo | |
and some say he's hanging on the wall | |
perhaps this yarn's the only thing | |
that holds this man together | |
some say he was never here at all | |
Some say they saw him down in | |
Birmingham, sleeping in a | |
boxcar going by | |
and if you think that you can tell a bigger tale | |
I swear to God you'd have to tell a lie... |
zuo ci : Waits | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and modified Brougham DeVille | |
and a pair of legs that opened up | |
like butterfly wings | |
and a mad dog that wouldn' t | |
sit still | |
he went and took up with a Salvation Army | |
Band girl | |
who played dirty water | |
on a swordfishtrombone | |
he went to sleep at the bottom of | |
Tenkiller lake | |
and he said " gee, but it' s | |
great to be home." | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and an idea for a fireworks display | |
and he knew that he' d be ready with | |
a stainless steel machete | |
and a half a pint of Ballentine' s | |
each day | |
and he holed up in room above a hardware store | |
cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears | |
and he put a spell on some | |
poor little Crutchfield girl | |
and stayed like that for 27 years | |
Well he packed up all his | |
expectations he lit out for California | |
with a flyswatter banjo on his knee | |
with a lucky tiger in his angel hair | |
and benzedrine for getting there | |
they found him in a eucalyptus tree | |
lieutenant got him a canary bird | |
and shaked her head with every word | |
and Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song | |
and he got 20 years for lovin' her | |
from some Oklahoma governor | |
said everything this Doughboy | |
does is wrong | |
Now some say he' s doing | |
the obituary mambo | |
and some say he' s hanging on the wall | |
perhaps this yarn' s the only thing | |
that holds this man together | |
some say he was never here at all | |
Some say they saw him down in | |
Birmingham, sleeping in a | |
boxcar going by | |
and if you think that you can tell a bigger tale | |
I swear to God you' d have to tell a lie... |
zuò cí : Waits | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and modified Brougham DeVille | |
and a pair of legs that opened up | |
like butterfly wings | |
and a mad dog that wouldn' t | |
sit still | |
he went and took up with a Salvation Army | |
Band girl | |
who played dirty water | |
on a swordfishtrombone | |
he went to sleep at the bottom of | |
Tenkiller lake | |
and he said " gee, but it' s | |
great to be home." | |
Well he came home from the war | |
with a party in his head | |
and an idea for a fireworks display | |
and he knew that he' d be ready with | |
a stainless steel machete | |
and a half a pint of Ballentine' s | |
each day | |
and he holed up in room above a hardware store | |
cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears | |
and he put a spell on some | |
poor little Crutchfield girl | |
and stayed like that for 27 years | |
Well he packed up all his | |
expectations he lit out for California | |
with a flyswatter banjo on his knee | |
with a lucky tiger in his angel hair | |
and benzedrine for getting there | |
they found him in a eucalyptus tree | |
lieutenant got him a canary bird | |
and shaked her head with every word | |
and Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song | |
and he got 20 years for lovin' her | |
from some Oklahoma governor | |
said everything this Doughboy | |
does is wrong | |
Now some say he' s doing | |
the obituary mambo | |
and some say he' s hanging on the wall | |
perhaps this yarn' s the only thing | |
that holds this man together | |
some say he was never here at all | |
Some say they saw him down in | |
Birmingham, sleeping in a | |
boxcar going by | |
and if you think that you can tell a bigger tale | |
I swear to God you' d have to tell a lie... |