Jakieś ponure te święta

pewnie dlatego, że wypadają w sobotę i niedzielę i mało wolnego w ich okolicach jest... Co za nudy... :-/

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