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Jockey Full of Bourbon Tom Waits
Two dollar pistol, but the gun won't shoot
I'm in the corner in the p[Em]ouring rain
16 men on a deadman's chest
And I've been drinking from a [B7]broken cup
Two pairs of pants and a mohair vest
I'm full of burbon, I c[Em]an't stand up
[Am]Hey little bird, fly [Em]away home
Your [B7]house is on fire, you[Em]r children are alone
[Am]Hey little bird, fly [Em]away home
Your [B7]house is on fire, you[Em]r children are alone
Schiffer broke a bottle on Morgans head
And I've been stepping on the devils tail
Across the stripes of a full moons head
Through the bars of a Cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
A flamingo drinking from a cocktail glass
I'm on the lawn with someone else's wife
Come admire the view from upon the top of the mast
Chorus
Yellow sheets in a Hong Kong bed
Stayzbo horn and a Singerland slide
To the carnival is what she said
A hundred dollars makes it dark inside
16 men on a deadman's chest
And I've been drinking from a broken cup
Two pair of pants and a mohair vest
I'm full of burbon, I can't stand up
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