Bruce Springsteen - Wild Billy's Circus Story lyrics
[Bruce Springsteen - Wild Billy's Circus Story lyrics]
Ah-one, two, three, four
The machinist climbs his ferris
Wheel like a brave
And the fire eater's lying in
A pool of sweat, victim of the heatwave
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens his
Legs on the sword swallower's blade
And circus town's on the shortwave
Well the runway lies ahead like
A great false dawn whoa, fat lady, big mama
Missy Bimbo sit's in her chair and yawns
And the man-beast lies in
His cage sniffing popcorn
As the midget licks his fingers
And suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Whoa, and a press roll drummer go
Ballerina to and fro
Cartwheeling up on that tightrope with
A cannon blast lighting flash
Moving fast through the tent Mars bent
He's gonna miss his fall
Oh God save the human cannonball
And the flying Zambinis watch Margarita
Do her neck twist
And the ringmaster gets the crowd
To count along: "Ninety-five, ninety-six
Ninety-seven"
A ragged suitcase in his hand
He steals silently away from
The circus grounds
And the highway's haunted by
The carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint
Ghost on the wind
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face
A crazy grin
Running home to some small Ohio town
Jesus send some good women to
Save all your clowns
And circus boy dances like a
Monkey on barbed wire
And the barker romances with a junkie
She's got a flat tire
And now the elephants dance real funky and
The band plays like a jungle fire
Circus town's on the live wire
And the strong man Samson
Lifts the midget little
Tiny Tim way up on his shoulders, way up
And carries him on down the
Midway past the kids, past the sailors
To his dimly lit trailer
And the ferris wheel turns and turns
Like it ain't ever gonna stop
And the circus boss leans over, whispers into
The little boy's ear "Hey son
You want to try the big top?"
All aboard, Nebraska's our next stop
The machinist climbs his ferris
Wheel like a brave
And the fire eater's lying in
A pool of sweat, victim of the heatwave
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens his
Legs on the sword swallower's blade
And circus town's on the shortwave
Well the runway lies ahead like
A great false dawn whoa, fat lady, big mama
Missy Bimbo sit's in her chair and yawns
And the man-beast lies in
His cage sniffing popcorn
As the midget licks his fingers
And suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Whoa, and a press roll drummer go
Ballerina to and fro
Cartwheeling up on that tightrope with
A cannon blast lighting flash
Moving fast through the tent Mars bent
He's gonna miss his fall
Oh God save the human cannonball
And the flying Zambinis watch Margarita
Do her neck twist
And the ringmaster gets the crowd
To count along: "Ninety-five, ninety-six
Ninety-seven"
A ragged suitcase in his hand
He steals silently away from
The circus grounds
And the highway's haunted by
The carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint
Ghost on the wind
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face
A crazy grin
Running home to some small Ohio town
Jesus send some good women to
Save all your clowns
And circus boy dances like a
Monkey on barbed wire
And the barker romances with a junkie
She's got a flat tire
And now the elephants dance real funky and
The band plays like a jungle fire
Circus town's on the live wire
And the strong man Samson
Lifts the midget little
Tiny Tim way up on his shoulders, way up
And carries him on down the
Midway past the kids, past the sailors
To his dimly lit trailer
And the ferris wheel turns and turns
Like it ain't ever gonna stop
And the circus boss leans over, whispers into
The little boy's ear "Hey son
You want to try the big top?"
All aboard, Nebraska's our next stop