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Drinking black market vodka in the back of the Scottsman's saloon |
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Then it's red meat and whiskey like a coyote drunk on the moon |
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Outside in Oslo the buskers' all sing the same tune |
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And it's Waltzin' Matilda while the bagpipes play old Clare de Lune |
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She was a lady, she came down from Bergen she said |
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She spoke little English, they laughed and drank whiskey instead |
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In the mornin' he found it... a rose with a note on his plate |
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It said, "meet me at midnight on the corner of St. Olav's Gate" |
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Here's to the ladys you love and don't see again |
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The night is warm whiskey... the mornin's a cold bitter wind |
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The blue eyed madonna leaves town while the drunken man waits |
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Leaves him standing alone in the shadows of St. Olav's Gate |
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Here's to the ladys you love and don't see again |
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The night is warm whiskey... the mornin's a cold bitter wind |
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The blue eyed madonna leaves town while the drunken man waits |
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Leaves him standing alone in the shadows of St. Olav's Gate |
