She was a dancer the exotic type.
She liked a little gift. She loved her little pipe
He was the lonely married kind who frequented the places where a man could unwind.
A cliche college teacher who smoked a cliche pipe, and trolled the Combat Zone cheating on his cliche wife.
She was a dancer ... she was a dancer.
The girls could smell a sucker from a hundred yards away when he slid into the Intermission Lounge that day
She didn't say much. They weren't allowed to touch, and this was one time he couldn't go Dutch.
This is how it was, that was how they'd meet down by LaGrange and Washington Street
He spent the next month buying Champagne Cocktails that everybody knew were really ginger ales
Then one day she said "I think we'd have more fun if you meet me after work at LaGrange and Washington."
This was where they went, that was where they'd meet down by LaGrange and Washington Street
Nobody got rich, no one had fun, down by LaGrange & Washington
Soon he was robbing Peter so he could play ball
Nothing was left to even pay poor Mrs. Paul.
Someone's getting fat, someone will take the fall, another you and me hanging on the wrecking ball.
He'd paid her rent at her beckoning. He had given her a diamond ring. All those flowers that he had sent, still she kept him at arm's length ... soon there would be a reckoning.
Blue were the veins on the back of his hands
as he read the paper in his Chevy van
White were his knuckles where he gripped the wheel, and
Black was the rage that sealed the deal
No one got rich and no one had fun down by LaGrange & Washington
He didn't try to flee, he didn't try to run, and they found both bodies on La Grange and Washington