Letras: Joni Mitchell. For The Roses. Barangrill.

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?"