Story Behind The Song

A little known Van Ronk classic, touched up slightly in the lyrics and arranged to show off a few nice blues licks.

Lyrics

Not a dollar not a nickel not a penny to my name;
I'm the king of tap city and I'm out of the game.
A nickel up, a nickel down, another nickel gone--
Never seem to have a nickel left to carry me on.
If I ever get back on my feet,
I'll move from Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street

Gonna get a pair of dice that roll me seven every time;
I'm gonna be living on pheasant and wine.
I want caviar, four star, and Johnny Walker Black,
Pretty woman with a diamond in my gold Cadillac.
I'm gonna move where the living is sweet
From Saturday Alley up to Sunday Street

My hands have got to shaking and I ain't feeling well,
From drinking King Kong liquor and cheap muscatel.
But a shot of Jack Daniels and breakfast in bed,
And six million dollars will raise the dead.
Just me and the other elites
Raising high class hell up on Sunday Street.

Now everybody says I'm talking out of my head
But nobody badmouths the man with the bread.
Ladies of the evening gonna give it free to me,
They'll tiptoe off at a quarter to three,
Because it pays to be discreet
When you're dealing with the king of Sunday Street.