Down the street on one leg, A major with a mouth, Is standing on a corner, Near a train to somewhere south, He whistles when he speaks, It's the only time he does, A petty two-bit thief, Always in and out of love. His eyes are bloody red, It's part of his routine, Home for Sunday dinner, With a widow from beneath, A silver serpent tongue, A face meant for a mother's love, A murder in his pocket, With no skin to cover up. Ride, he rides, Two-bit thief, Train down South Serpent tongue