Damn, and I wonder where the coal trucks roll And the billboards tell you where to save your soul There's another place that's a better job by far When the moonlight hammers on a railway bridge The whole world's looking for a beverage You ain't got nothing, nothing in the boot of the car Time for the back room, a dirty, plainly raised Yankee bar When the coal trucks settle up and down the land You can wake up thinking that it's 89 There's another sound, thicker than a bottle of bar And you can hear it pumping out the roller door A walnut piano on a wooden floor A backbeat drummer, boy, on a slide guitar Coming from the back room, a dirty, plainly raised Yankee bar Playin' that piano, ow, ow, ow, ow I'm in the high tide sucking at the old sea wall And the full moon's looking like a mirror ball Bigger than Elvis, hotter than a Speedway star With a wet paint packet on a midnight hand They say it's a winter mariachi band But you can lose a girl quicker than a coup de grace Yeah, in the back room, a dirty, plainly raised Yankee bar Listen, I'm talking about the back room In the back room, a dirty, plainly raised Yankee bar Hey! I said, ha, that mother, ha, that son Ha, that rubber to the end of the run Hey, got riddance in between them walls All hidden from a nickelose Down by the Honda where the coal trucks roll And the fuel phones tell you where to save your soul There's another place, there's a better job platform That's the back room, dirty, plainly raised