Oh I come from Pittsburgh to study astrology She said as she stepped on my instep I could show you New York with a walk between Fourth Street and Nine Then out of her coat taking seven harmonicas She sat down to play on a doorstep Saying, Come back to my place I will show you the stars and the signs So I followed her into the black lands Where the window frames peel and flake And the old Jewish face behind the lace Even now trying to get to see what's cooking Just John the Baptist in the park getting laid thinking there's no-one looking And its eighty degrees and I'm down on my knees in Brooklyn
Her house was a dusty collection of rusty Confusion with landings and tunnels And leaning bookcases and spaces and faces and things Where twenty-five Puerto Ricans, Manhattan Mohicans And Jewish-Italian Pawnbrokers Lead their theatrical lives in their rooms in the wings While outside in the black lands The violent day runs wild And the black and white minstrels run through the crazy Alleys while the cops go booking And ruthless toothless agents sneak around and there's no-one looking And it's eighty degrees and I'm down on my knees in Brooklyn
And oh, I'm back in the city again You can tell by the smell of the hamburger stand in the rain
She spoke of astrology while muttering apologies For coffee that tasted of hot dogs I said, That's OK, mine was cold anyway, and just grand Then she lay on the bed while the radio fed Us with records and adverts for cat food And I looked at her, holding my thoughts in the palm of my hand And outside in the black lands The evening came and went And the bums in the street begging money for one last drink Are hanging round the liquor stores trying to get a foot in And the girl from Pittsburgh and I made love on a mattress with the new moon looking And in the cool evening breeze I was down on my knees in Brooklyn
Writer/s: ALISTAIR IAN STEWART
Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
John Lennon's lead guitar work on Yoko Ono's "Walking On Thin Ice" proved to be his final creative act. It was upon their return home after completing laying down the track that Lennon was murdered by Mark David Chapman.
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