City Liners - Good Rats

Every Friday night at ten, I would call for my best friend

And sneak a couple of his daddy’s Ballantine

Do them in a flash, getting off behind the trash

Then we’d run to catch the Double A to City Line

The boys would meet, on a dead end street

Brag about their women, to pass away the time

And shoot, the breeze, on their knees

Oh how I miss that City line