Three waitresses all wearing

Black diamond earrings

Talking about zombies

And Singapore slings

 

No trouble In their faces

Not one anxious voice

None of the crazy you get

From too much choice

 

The thumb and the satchel

Or the rented rolls-Royce

And you think she knows something

By the second refill

You think she's enlightened

As she totals your bill

You say show me the way

To barangrill

 

Well some say It's In service

They say humble makes pure

You're hoping It's near folly

'Cause you're headed that way for sure

 

And you just have to laugh

'Cause It's all so crazy

Ah her mind's on her boyfriend

And eggs over easy

It's just a trick on you

Her mirrors and your will

So you ask the truck driver

On the way to the till

But he's just a slave

To barangrill

 

The guy at the gas-pumps

He's got a lot of soul

He sings merry Christmas for you

Just like Nat king Cole

 

And he makes up his own tune

Right on the spot

About whitewalls and windshields

And this job he's got

 

And you want to get moving

And you want to stay still

But lost In the moment

Some longing gets filled

And you even forget to ask

Hey where's barangrill