Lyrics Corrina Pt. 2: Holes in Your Stockings & a Colt '45 - Pearl Diver

Midnight powder blue with diamonds in the sizzle of the spoon bowl
Drizzle on the wind-shield reflecting lovers on the stroll and haters in the headlights
A sodium streetlight dwarfed in the belly of a trash-can in the bowels of Fisherman's Wharf
"Corrina! The holes in your damn stockings are beginning to piss me off!"
And I'm locking on to my old John Dillinger complex
In a New York City sort of state of mind... and just wondering if I might find myself on 34th and Vine

Well I took a leek on the bald rear tyre of my old Buick
And wondered if the pressure was as pumped so to speak
As the pounds per square inch in my crack-cocaine cranium
Just considering if the chamber was the linchpin that was temporarily holding us together
Or if my trigger-digit might just blow us apart
Now hand on my heart Corrina
It all just depended on those damn holes in your cheap stockings
Should I just fire it up and head out over the line... and see if I might find myself on 34th and Vine

Well, I saw in the sodium a hint of liquorice
Just dribbling down the side of her mouth
Or maybe she was craving a little something sweet
I said "Corrina, I've gotta treat for you, how do you fancy a hit"
And then I hit her Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop!
She had five holes in her head the size of those in those damn lily-white stockings
Only now they were decorated with dribble-black and red
So, what can I say?
Corinna's now just a stiff in a trash-can in the bowels of Fisherman's Wharf
And I'm just some filcher in a flop-house just kinda loosening up my spine...
And I'm wondering if I might be able to find myself here on 34th and Vine