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 gaspumps

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?"