There's a cold rain falling from the sky above
and I'm lost as a woman on a drifter's love
there's a singin' in the wire, there's a singin' in my head
and I can't find my own way home
you can tell by the style and the cut of my clothes
I've seen better days god only knows
I'm like a one man bandit at the Alamo
Running from the guns again just running from the guns again
It's in the bite of the whisky it's in the kiss of the wine
it's in the touch of Tequila or the fruit of the vine
but the very next morning, when you let yourself in
and she asks you what happened, you blame it on the sting of the gin
big man picking up a telephone
he's got a woman in the city, got a woman at home
he waits for a line, then he hangs up in time
and reaches for the bottle again
you can lose your job and the money's all gone
and it don't look too good in the cold light of dawn
so you have a little drink, just to set you up again for tomorrow
It's in the kick of the vodka it's in the hush of the rye
sweet Amon-till-ado gently kiss you goodbye
it's a way of forgetting, the state that you're in
when no one believes you you blame it on the sting of the gin
sting of the gin