Barangrill

Three waitresses all wearing Black diamond earrings Talking about zombies And Singapore slings No trouble in their faces Not one anxious voice None of the crazy you get From too much choice The thumb and the satchel Or the rented Rolls-Royce And you think she knows something By the second refill You think she's enlightened As she totals your bill You say "Show me the way To Barangrill" Well some say it's in service They say "Humble Makes Pure" You're hoping it's near Folly 'Cause you're headed that way for sure And you just have to laugh 'Cause it's all so crazy Ah, her mind's on her boyfriend And eggs over easy It's just a trick on you Her mirrors and your will So you ask the truck driver On the way to the till But he's just a slave To Barangrill The guy at the gaspumps He's got a lot of soul He sings Merry Christmas for you Just like Nat King Cole And he makes up his own tune Right on the spot About whitewalls and windshields And this job he's got And you want to get moving And you want to stay still But lost in the moment Some longing gets filled And you even forget to ask "Hey, Where's Barangrill?"