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Jungleland Lyrics

from Live In New York City

"Jungleland" is track #4 on the album Live In New York City. It was written by Robert Scottwino Weinrich.
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"Jungleland" is track #4 on the album Live In New York City. It was written by Robert Scottwino Weinrich.
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The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem, late last night
And the magic rat drove his sleek machine, over Jersey state line
Barefoot girl, sitting on the hood of a Dodge
Drinking warm beer in soft summer rain
The rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance and disappear
Down Flamingo lane

Well, the maximum lawman run down Flamingo
Chasing the rat and the barefoot girl
The kids round here look just like shadows
Always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails
Tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand
Down in jungle land

The midnight gang's assembled
And picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign
That brings this fair city light
Man, there's an opera out on the turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops, cherry top, rips this holy night

The street's alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanished unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch blades
Hustling for the record machine

The hungry and the hunted
Explode into rock 'n' roll bands
Their faced off against each other out in the street
Down in jungle land

In the parking lot, the visionaries
Dressed in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing
To the records that the D.J. plays
Lonely hearted lovers struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on
And just one look and a whisper, they're gone

Beneath the city, two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender
In a bedroom locked, in whispers of soft refusal
And then, surrender in the tunnels uptown
The rat's own dream guns him down
As shots echo down them hallways in the night
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

Outside the street's on fire, in a real death waltz
Between what's flesh and what's fantasy
And then the poets down here, don't write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be

And in the quick of the night
They reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded, not even dead
Tonight in jungle land

Songwriters
Robert Scottwino Weinrich

Published by
BLOODWING PUBLISHING

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