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Peter Keane - Sunday Street lyrics
Not a dollar, not a nickle, not a penny to my name I'm the king of tapped city and I'm out of the game A nickle up, a nickle down, another nickle gone I ain't got a nickle left to carry me home If I ever get back on my feet I'll move from Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street Well I wanna a pair of dice and make seven all the time I'm gonna be livin' on chicken and wine One caviar four star, Johnny Walker Black Six pretty women in a gold Cadillac I wanna move where the livin' is sweet Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street Well my hands are shakin' and I ain't feelin' well From drinkin' King Kong liquor and and cheap muskatel For a little taste of burbon and breakfast in bed And six million dollars can raise the dead Just me and the other elite Raisin' high class hell on Sunday Street Now everybody says I'm talkin' 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 that robbed Santa Claus" It pays to be discreet... talkin' to the king of Sunday Street Not a dollar, not a nickle, not a penny to my name I'm the king of tapped city and I'm out of the game A nickle up, a nickle down, another nickle gone I ain't got a nickle left to carry me home If I ever get back on my feet I'll move from Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street If I ever get back on my feet I'll move from Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street |
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