Titel: 42nd Street
Artist: Golden earing
Spiralling leapers, wearing Nike sneakers
\n Some of them laugh, some of them sing
\n Some of them don’t do a goddamn thing
\n Trip-skipping drifters, grafters and lifters
\n Chicks with big tits, school boys with zits
\n Moonlight circus of earthly delights
\n Pimpmobile cruising the soft, velvet night
\n Deals going down, midnight in town
\n Donw in the subways, the underground tunnels
\n A musician is playing, a drunk stumbles and mumbles
\n Out in the park it’s scary with frights
\n Somebody shot out all the streetlights
\n Hookers and bookies, floozies and boozers
\n All kinds of misfits, perverts and losers
\n Out of the limo that looks like a boat
\n The pimp steps out in a mink fur coat
\n Sporting a fedora, that creates its own aura
\n A ruby-tooth grin and a diamond stick pin
\n A deal’s going down this side of town
\n People walk on fleet feet
\n On the way down 42nd Street
\n Except for the bums, down for the count
\n That one’s dead but no one’s found out
\n And look at the bitch, with her dress up her ass!
\n When she moves that thing, she must move it fast
\n Cop with a nightstick, checking around
\n A neon lit junkie slides to the ground
\n Here comes a flasher, a jogger, a punk
\n Check out that guy, drunk as a skunk!
\n Blinking, reflection, lights melt in the rain
\n The sidewalks are empty, nothing’s the same
\n 4 A.M. people are crashing
\n Where the hookers are huddled
\n Colored raindrops are splashing
\n The deals have gone down, the bimbo’s split town
\n Burned from the hustle, burned from the hype
\n But under the lights, I’m feeling alright
\n On 42nd Street it’s just another night
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