Jungleland (Live at Madison Square Garden, New York, NY - 09/21/79)

[Intro]

[Verse 1]

The Rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night

And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine

Over the Jersey state line

Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge

Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain

The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants

Together they take a stab at romance

And disappear down Flamingo Lane

[Verse 2]

Well the maximum lawman run down Flamingo

Chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl

And the kids round here look just like shadows

Always quiet, holding hands

From the churches to the jails

Tonight all is silence in thе world

As we take our stand down in Jungleland

[Verse 3]

Wеll the midnight gangs assembled

And picked a rendezvous for the night

They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign

That brings this fair city light

Man there's an opera out on the turnpike

There's a ballet being fought out in the alley

Until the local cops, cherry top, rips this holy night

[Verse 4]

The street's alive as secret debts are paid

Contact's made, they vanished unseen

Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades

Hustling for the record machine

The hungry and the hunted

Explode into rock'n'roll bands

That faced off against each other out in the street

Down in Jungleland

[Verse 5]

In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage

Inside the backstreet girls are dancing to the records that the DJ plays

Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners

Desperate as the night moves on

Just one look and a whisper, and they're gone

[Saxophone solo]

[Verse 6]

Beneath the city two hearts beat

Soul engines running through a night so tender

In a bedroom locked in whispers

Of soft refusal and then surrender

In the tunnels uptown the Rat's own dream guns him down

As shots echo down them hallways in the night

No one watches when the ambulance pulls away

Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

[Verse 7]

Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz

Between what's flesh and what's fantasy

And the poets down here

Don't write nothing at all

They just stand back and let it all be

And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment

And try to make an honest stand

But they wind up wounded, not even dead

Tonight in Jungleland