Brock Zeman - Once Upon a Saturday Night lyrics

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Brock Zeman - Once Upon a Saturday Night

Anything can happen under neon lights:

Shave your face, comb your hair, new pair of underwear,

Slicked back, pay check, fresh pack of cigarettes,

Stick with me you’ll see, new boots on my feet,

Hair gunk, half drunk feeling like a hundred bucks

Like a hundred bucks

I’m going downtown and I’m gonna try my luck

And I ain’t going down till the sun comes up:

Barstool, game of pool, try your best to look cool,

Jump back, shot of Jack, drug dealing in the back,

Dance floor, one more, head’s gonna be sore,

Listen honey, here’s some money, another round and keep them coming

Just keep them coming

There’s a pretty little waitress running off her feet

She don’t give her number to punks like me

Short skirt, loves to flirt, so pretty it hurts,

Shaking hips, red lips, only in it for the tips,

Nice smile, drive you wild, I wish I wasn’t so shy,

I bet she’s gotta boyfriend….I don’t give a damn

I don’t give a damn

Hanging around with them good time friends of mine

When I run outta money they run outta time

Cross-eyed, I’ll buy, just go up and say hi

New keg, rubber legs, baby don’t you make me beg,

Wanna dance? No chance, the band butchers Johnny Cash

How come every time I’m drunk it seems all the ugly people leave?

Where the hell do they go?

They’re putting up the chairs I better call me a cab

I must’ve forgotten to pay my tab

Bouncer had a screw loose, covered in tattoos,

Threw me out the front door said, don’t come back no more

My eyes are red, I’m half dead, I called him a meat head

Can’t walk, can’t talk I hope my door ain’t locked.

I hope it ain’t locked.

I couldn’t find the bed, I couldn’t miss the floor

Woke up in the morning in all my clothes

Crawled into bed, sore head, wishing that I was dead

My mouth was like an ash-tray, slept through Sunday

Dreaming about a waitress, wondering where my money went

The phone was ringing off the hook, I gotta apologize to:

The barman, the bouncer and the cab driver,

The waitress, Jesus, I can’t remember who else

I called on the telephone at twenty-five to four

I’m never gonna drink again….till next weekend

Not until next weekend.