Tombstone blues

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be nervous.

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, "I've just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in".

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps or the soul
To the old folks home and the college.

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for food.
I'm in the kitchen
With the tombstone blues.