Lyrics

Smokey Joe’s

There’s a little dive I know about out on the edge of town
I’m headin’ that way so hop on in, I’ll show you around
I know it’s late, but that’s ok, they never close
So come on down, down to Smokey Joe’s.

Hey look! There’s Guy Clark and old John Prine and everyone can tell
Those smiles that they’re wearin’ are illegal as hell,
They’re slicing red tomatoes, the home grown variety,
And laughin’ like those good ol’ boys can laugh in Tennessee,
And Guy, he’s drinkin’ whiskey, the single malt, you know,
The kind you can’t find anywhere ‘cept down at Smokey Joes.

Now, Bobby’s quite the joker, you cannot pin him down,
Between those devil’s horns he sports a dark and thorny crown,
He whispers to Johanna "Let’s get out while we can,
Before they turn us all into statues made of sand,
Yeah, come on, let’s go fishin’, I brought my line and pole,
There’s always something bitin’ downstairs at Smokey Joe’s.
Come on down, down to Smokey Joe’s.

Lenny lets the light in and in his holy way
Perfectly imperfect, he removes his clothes to pray,
And everybody’s bowin' to gods unseen gods again,
For every drop of golden ink that passed down through their pens,
Yeah, thanks for "what’s it to ya" and “Everybody Knows”,
They’re singing hallelujah downstairs at Smokey Joe’s.

Big yellow taxi drops off a brilliant star,
All eyes are upon her procession to the bar,
“Bartender, a martini, please” and the boys all gather ‘round,
They raise a glass to Joni: “Girl you own this town!”
Here’s to Clouds of Angel Hair, to all your rows and flows,
To Don Juan’s reckless daughter holdin’ court at Smokey Joe’s.
Come on down, down to Smokey Joe’s.


Tom parks his ol’ ’55, slips on his hat and coat,
He takes another swig o’ wine, he takes another toke,
There’s paparazzi everywhere, but Tom won’t make the news,
‘Cause they’re busy with some pretty boy, with a million you tube views,
His followers on Instagram buy his line of clothes,
But all them clicks don’t mean a thing downstairs at Smokey Joe’s.

So all you young songwriters streaming into town,
Seeking fame and fortune, playing all the rounds,
I hope you crack the code and the charts are kind to you,
And you get let down easy when the new kids all come through,
But if you’re huntin’ bigger game, if you after real gold,
I pray someday you make your way down to Smokey Joe’s.

© P. Rosenberg