In the Neighborhood Tom Waits

Well, the eggs chase the bacon round the fryin' pan
And the whinin' dog pigeons by the steeple bell rope
And the dogs tipped the garbage pails over last night
And there's always construction work bothering you

In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood

Well, Friday's a funeral and Saturday's a bride
And Sey's got a pistol on the register side
And the goddamned delivery trucks, they make too much noise
And we don't get our butter delivered no more

In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood

Well, Big Mambo is kickin' his old greyhound
And the kids can't get ice cream 'cause the market burned down
And the newspaper sleeping bags blow down the lane
And that goddamn flatbed's got me pinned in again

In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood
In the neighborhood