Lyrics M. Roadhouse ** Last Night - Allan Rayman

Off to the races, off on his own
Off he shakes these infatuations
Dreams of providing off his music
Swears to death he'll chase them
Hats off to the fact they've begun to chase him
Often the truth seems more abrasive, he's begun to face it
Oh no, oh no
Ah, face it
Now it's true, it's true, it's true
He's from the north, he's got no city
He only knows the 512
They talk about him like he's next up
They don't know the fucking dude
Off they go, tires burning road
All the words they spoke
Watch them sweat and grow
Allan's not a
On the road, watch him go
Watch him go
He starts production on his Roadhouse film
He's under budget, at a casting standstill
He's got his beat-up Ford pickup
Plans to shoot on film
Presenting Mr. Roadhouse
Ladies and gentleman, introducing Mr. Roadhouse
Presenting Mr. Roadhouse

(Rocking chair creaking, car drives up, music clicks off)
(Rocking chair creaking, car door shuts, footsteps on gravel)
"Sweetheart?"
(Creaking stops, footsteps)
(Door opens)
"Sweetheart, I'm home..."
(Silence)

She can't do wrong by a friend
They fight for attention
And when it all falls apart
She blames it on them and then they start again
Pleased to pay no mind
She gets the head all the time
I give her cold shoulder, she always plays it cool
She only talks back sometimes
And my back stays turned to her
I catch the girl slipping, yeah
Looking at the boy
But my back stays turned to her
This girl only wants what she can't have
I am the world to her
It's funny how I am the world to her

Beverly, his girl
Cruella de Vil
Oh, she's so perfect, sure
It's never good enough for her

It don't matter to her anyway
Don't matter to her anyway
It don't matter to her anyway
No, it don't matter to her anyway
It don't matter to her anyway
Oh, don't matter to her anyway
It don't matter to her anyway
No, it don't matter to her anyway

Beverly, his girl
Cruella de Vil
Oh, she's so perfect, sure
It's never good enough for her