Dave Van Ronk - Sunday Street
текст песни

Not a dollar, not a nickle, not a penny to my name
I'm the king of tap city and I'm out of the game
A nickle up, a nickle down, another nickle gone
Ain't got a nickle just to carry me on.
When I'm back on my feet, I'll move from Saturday Ally
Up to Sunday Street

Gonna get a pair of dice that give me sevens all the time
I'm gonna be living on chicken and wine
Caviar four star, Johnny Walker Black, six pretty women in my gold Cadillac
Move where the living is sweet, from Saturday Ally up to Sunday Street

Well my hands are shaking and I ain't feeling well from drinking King Kong liquor and cheap muscatel
But a little taste of bourbon and breakfast in bed and six million dollars would raise the dead
Just me and the other elite, raising high class hell on Sunday Street

Everybody says I'm talking out of my head, but nobody bad mouths the man with the bread.
All the whores are gonna drop their drawers and say, "There goes the man who mugged Santa Claus,"
It pays to be discreet when you're talking to the King of Sunday Street.

Not a dollar, not a nickle, not a penny to my name
I'm the king of tap city and I'm out of the game
A nickle up, a nickle down, another nickle gone
Ain't got a nickle just to carry me on.
When I'm back on my feet, I'll move from Saturday Ally
Up to Sunday Street