More songs by Bruce Springsteen
Description
Nebraska '82: Expanded Edition
Vocal, Associated Performer, Electric Guitar, Lyricist, Composer: Bruce Springsteen
Acoustic Guitar: Larry Campbell
Recording Engineer, Mixing Engineer: Rob Lebret
Recording Engineer: Monty Carlo
Mastering Engineer: Brian Lee
Mastering Engineer: Bob Jackson
Lyrics and translation
Original
Well, I had the carburetor, baby, cleaned and checked.
With her line blown out, she's humming like a turbojet. Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks.
Put a new clutch, plate, and a new set of shocks.
Took her down to the car wash, checked the plugs and points.
Well, I'm going out tonight, I'm gonna rock that joint. Early North Jersey industrial skyline.
I'm an all-set Cobrajet creeping through the night. Turn, gotta find a gas station. Gotta find a payphone.
This turnpike sure is spooky at night when you're all alone.
I gotta hit the gas, babe, I'm running late.
It's New Jersey in the morning like a lunar landscape.
Well, the boss don't dig me, so he put me on the night shift.
Takes me two hours to get back to where my baby lives. In the wee, wee hours your mind gets crazy.
Radio relay towers won't you lead me to my baby.
'Neath the overpass a trooper hits the party light switch. Good night, good luck, one-two, power shift.
I met Wanda when she was employed behind the counter at the Route 60 Bob's Big Boy.
Fried chicken on the front seat sittin' on my lap. We're wipin' our fingers on a
Texaco road map.
I remember Wanda up on Scrap Metal Hill with them big brown eyes that make your heart stand still.
I said, yeah.
Well, it's 5 AM, the oil pressure's sinking fast. Gotta make a pit stop, wipe the windshield, check the gas.
Gotta call my baby on the telephone. Let her know that her daddy's coming on home.
Sit tight, little mama, I'm a-coming 'round.
I got three more hours, but I'm covered in brown. Your eyes get itchy in the wee, wee hours.
Sun's a red bull rising over them refinery towers. Radio's jammed up with gospel stations.
Lost souls calling long distance salvation. Hey, Mr. DJ, won't you hear my last prayer?
Hey-ho, where rock 'n' roll delivered me from nowhere.