Small Change Lyrics - A Small Affair In Ohio: Angora Ballroom, Cleveland 1977 - Tom Waits

Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight, 

And nobody flinched down by the arcade 

And the marquees weren't weeping, they went stark-raving mad, 

And the cabbies were the only ones that really had it made 

And his cold trousers were twisted, and the sirens high and shrill, 

And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill 

And the naked mannequins with their Cheshire grins, 

And the raconteurs and roustabouts said "Buddy, come on in, 'cause 

'Cause the dreams ain't broken down here now, they're walking with a limp 

Now that Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight" 

And nobody flinched down by the arcade 

And the burglar alarm's been disconnected, 

And the newsmen start to rattle 

And the cops are telling jokes about some whorehouse in Seattle 

And the fire hydrants plead the Fifth Amendment 

And the furniture is bargains galore 

But the blood is by the jukebox on an old linoleum floor 

And what a hot rain on Forty-Second Street, 

And now the umbrellas ain't got a chance 

And the newsboy's a lunatic with stains on his pants, 'cause 

'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight 

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And no one's gone over to close his eyes 

And there's a racing form in his pocket, 

Circled "Blue Boots" in the third 

And the cashier at the clothing store didn't say a word 

As the siren tears the night in half, and someone lost his wallet 

Well, a surveillance of assailance, if that's what you want to call it 

And the whores hike up their skirts and fish for drug-store prophylactics 

With their mouths cut just like razor blades and their eyes are like stilettos 

And her radiator's steaming and her teeth are in a wreck, and nah, 

She won't let you kiss her, but what the hell do you expect? 

And the Gypsies are tragic and if you want to buy perfume, 

Well, they'll bark you down like carneys, sell you Christmas cards in June, but 

But Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight 

And his headstone's a gumball machine, 

No more chewing gum or baseball cards or overcoats or dreams 

Someone's hosing down the sidewalk, and he's only in his teens, 'cause 

'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight 

Photos 

And a fistful of dollars can't change that, 

And someone copped his watch fob, and someone got his ring 

And the newsboy got his porkpie Stetson hat 

And the tuberculosis old men at the Nelson wheeze and cough 

And someone will head south until this whole thing cools off, 'cause 

'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight, yeah, 

Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight