Will you still be sending me a Valentine? Birthday wishes? The occasional bottle of wine, perhaps?
Well, once I stayed out 'til quarter-past-three, and she locked the door. She said she didn’t need me, and refused to feed me.
Now I’m so lonely! Wanna die!
So that’s what becomes of the broken-hearted!
All we hear is radio ga-ga. Radio goo-goo. Radio ga-ga.
Turn the radio up for that sweet sound. Hold me close never let me go. Keep this feelin’ alive. Make me lose control. Baby, baby.
I love the way you look at me. I love the dirty things you do. Now I have control of you.
When I was young, I’d listen to the radio. Waiting for my favorite song.
Someone found the letter you wrote me on the radio. They told the world just how you felt. It must have fallen out of a hole in your big brown overcoat. But they said it really loud, they said it on the air, on the radio!
On a Mexican (whoa-oh) radio? I turn the switch and check the number. I leave it on when in bed I slumber. I hear the rhythms of the music. I buy the product and never use it. I hear the talking of the DJ. Can’t understand – just what does he say?
He says, “The Cisco Kid was a friend of mine. He drank whiskey Pancho drank the wine.”
Drank scotch whiskey? All night long?
And what about the sweet smell of colitas rising up through the air?
That smell. Can’t you smell that smell. That smell. The smell that’s around you.
I’d rather have red, red wine. It goes to my head and makes me forget that I still need him so.
A bottle of red, a bottle of white - whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight. I’ll meet you anytime you want at our Italian restaurant.
Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine, when ya gonna let me get sober? Leave me alone, let me go home, let me go home and start over.
Well down in New Orleans where everything’s fine, all them cats is sippin’ that wine! Drinkin’ that mess is sure delight, soon to be fightin’ and fussin’ all night
drinkin’ wine, wine, wine…
I took a ride once on The City of New Orleans, changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we’ll be there by morning, through the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the sea.
I got one more silver dollar, but I’m not gonna let them catch me no, I’m not gonna let them catch the midnight rider…
Money, its a gas. But share it fairly: just don’t take a slice of my stash.