there’s so much life going on at the diner ‘cross the streetnthree dozen eggs piled up waiting to be beatn“coffee black…whiskey down…split pea soup--no rocks”nand i know all the lingo ‘cause i go there a lotnni wish i had me a real job like waiting tablesnno more vans and travelling bands, i need something stableni wish i had me a real job at the diner across the streetnwhere i could meet a late night girl who doesn’t eat meatnni get so sick of whiskey swilling chicks at all the clubsnbut i take them out after the show all scrambled upnthey’re all impressed…think i’m a star…i know the waiters by namenbut in my mind i’ve cleaned the plates and pumped a lot of painnni wish i had me a real job like waiting tablesnno more bands and travelling, man, i want something stableni wish i had me a real job at the diner across the streetnmaybe i’d meet a late night girl who likes me