Well this gigolo's jumping salty, ain't no trade out on the streets,
Half past the unlucky, and the hawk's a front-row seat
Dressed in full orchestration, stage-door Johnny's got to pay,
And sent him home talking 'bout the one that got away
Could have been on Easy Street, could have been a wheel,
With irons in the fire and all them business deals
But the last of the big-time losers shouted before he drove away,
"I'll be right back, as soon as I crack the one that got away"
Well, the ambulance drivers, they don't give a shit,
They just want to get off work, and
The short stop and the victim are already gone berserk
And the shroud-tailor measures him for a deep-six holiday,
The stiff is froze, the case is closed on the one that got away
wooden
whiskey
looking
large
champion
spilling
behind
jumping
italian
mumbling
stiff
greyhound
froze
learning
already
hustle
chicken
drove
equilibrium
thing
blanca
cemetery
business
houdini
little
pride
dressed
looks
about
street
hotel
deals
traffic
directing
unlucky
carving
waiting
front
talking
holiday
salty
francisco
shook
ready
ambulance
there
blues
before
drivers
closed
losers
berserk
inside
piece
something
fairfax
buddy
could
costello
crack
doing
measures
victim
right
orchestration
reliable
peculiar
songs
stage
grinding
piano
price
sewers
reputation
slice
shouted
kimono
every
shroud
sources
snakeskin
someone
irons
tunes
shoes
stood
streets
short
misspell
tailor
tipped
tattoo
tours
trade
trousers
vincent
guided
wheel
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