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Small Change (Got Rained On With His Own .38)
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Tom Waits
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1
Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight,
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And nobody flinched down by the arcade
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And the marquees weren't weeping, they went stark-raving mad,
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And the cabbies were the only ones that really had it made
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And his cold trousers were twisted, and the sirens high and shrill,
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And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill
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And the naked mannequins with their Cheshire grins,
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And the raconteurs and roustabouts said "Buddy, come on in, 'cause
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'Cause the dreams ain't broken down here now, they're walking with a limp
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Now that Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight"
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And nobody flinched down by the arcade
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And the burglar alarm's been disconnected,
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And the newsmen start to rattle
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And the cops are telling jokes about some whorehouse in Seattle
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And the fire hydrants plead the Fifth Amendment
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And the furniture is bargains galore
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But the blood is by the jukebox on an old linoleum floor
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And what a hot rain on Forty-Second Street,
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And now the umbrellas ain't got a chance
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And the newsboy's a lunatic with stains on his pants, 'cause
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'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
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And no one's gone over to close his eyes
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And there's a racing form in his pocket,
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Circled "Blue Boots" in the third
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And the cashier at the clothing store didn't say a word
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As the siren tears the night in half, and someone lost his wallet
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Well, a surveillance of assailance, it that's what you want to call it
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And the whores hike up their skirts and fish for drug-store prophylactics
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With their mouths cut just like razor blades and their eyes are like stilettos
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And her radiator's steaming and her teeth are in a wreck, and nah,
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She won't let you kiss her, but what the hell do you expect?
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And the Gypsies are tragic and if you want to buy perfume,
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Well, they'll bark you down like carneys, sell you Christmas cards in June, but
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But Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
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And his headstone's a gumball machine,
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No more chewing gum or baseball cards or overcoats or dreams
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Someone's hosing down the sidewalk, and he's only in his teens, 'cause
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'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
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And a fistful of dollars can't change that,
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And someone copped his watch fob, and someone got his ring
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And the newsboy got his porkpie Stetson hat
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And the tuberculosis old men at the Nelson wheeze and cough
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And someone will head south until this whole thing cools off, 'cause
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'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight, yeah,
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Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
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