Billy's Band

Однажды ночью я спустился в бар гостиницы, купил
бутылку виски в коричневой картонной упаковке,
сидя на корточках прислонившись к барной стойке
влил в себя эту очередную порцию отравляющей
радости, подумал, что это было в последний раз,
поднялся наверх, покричал в унитаз и написал новый
блюз. Он назывался - Завтрак в тюрьме. На самом
деле это был танец, хотя и необычный. Да, и вот
ещё что - все мужики, все, кто сидел там внизу,
все, с кем я разговаривал, все они там из-за
женщины...


Falling James in the Tahoe mud
Stick around to tell us all the tale
Well he fell in love with a Gun Street girl
And now he's dancing in the Birmingham jail
Dancing in the Birmingham jail

He took a hundred dollars off a slaughterhouse Joe
Brought a brand new Michigan twenty-gauge
He got all liquored up on that road house corn
Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow Corvette
A hole in the hood of a yellow Corvette

He bought a second-hand Nova from a Cuban Chinese
And dyed his hair in the bathroom of a Texaco
With a pawnshop radio, quarter past four
Now he left for Waukegan at the slamming of the door
Left for Waukegan at the slamming of the door

I said John, John, he's long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home
I said John, John, he's long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home

Now we's sitting in a sycamore in St. John's wood
Soaking day-old bread in kerosene
He was blue as a robin's egg and brown as a hog
He's staying out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired
Out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired

Shadow fixed the toilet with an old trombone
He never get up in the morning on a Saturday
Sitting by the Erie with a bull-whipped dog
Telling everyone he saw - "They went that-a-way, boys"
Telling everyone he saw - "They went that-a-way"

I said John, John, he's long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home
I said John, John, he's long gone
Gone to Indiana, ain't never coming home

Now the rain's like gravel on an old tin roof
And the Burlington Northern pulling out of the world
With the head full of bourbon and a dream in the straw
And a Gun Street girl was the cause of it all
A Gun Street girl was the cause of it all

Sitting in the table with an old tin cup
Sing I’ll never kiss the gun street girl again
Never kiss the gun street girl again
I’ll never kiss the gun street girl again
I’ll never kiss the gun street girl again

Oh, John, John...
Oh, John, John...
Oh, John, John...
John, John...
John, John...