Some of these take my back a bit. I transcribed a couple of them for a little booklet for a workshop/entertainment called 'Acid Folk' for a national festival here in Oz back in the 1980s - 'Merchant's Lunch' and 'The Ace'. Even earlier, I transcribed 'The Hobo's Last Letter' for an workshop/entertainment with my mate, Paul Lawler, called 'The Outsider'.

THE MERCHANT'S LUNCH
(Tommy Thompson)

I took a walk
He was walkin' up and down Broadway
I was lookin'
Had an eye out for a swell café
I was hungry
He was soundin' for a bite to munch
I found a spot
He took a table at the Merchant's Lunch
Oh, the Merchant's Lunch, it was an ocean of gloom
It looked like half past midnight in the afternoon

Down by the bar
A rat-faced manager was pourin' suds
For the boys
Well-dressed cowboys in their goodwill duds
And the girls
A pride of pedal-pushin' pinball queens
Chewin' gum
In sweaty combat at the wizard machine
But the queen of them all lookin' big as a forge
Was Broadway Brenda and her derelict corps

I ordered a blue plate special
And peered out through the gloom
Just to see what class of citizens inhabited this gloom
And the hapless visages I saw were innocent of cheer
Though mirthless laughter filled the air
Inspired by wine and beer

From these helpless accidents of fortune's careless aim
Broadway Brenda rose upon her twin-sized, six-foot frame
I turned away to shun her eyes but I knew it was too late
A hand fell on my shoulder as my gaze fell on my plate

I looked her up and over
And she did the same to me
Her teeth were green
As green as garden peas
She shaked her hair
With dish pan fingertips
An earthquake of excitement
Shook her Krakatoan hips
Her hands went to her bosom
A hush fell on the crew
An acre of Brenda lay exposed to view

These fevered words, she whispered
As he gazed upon the scene
'It's a custom here at Merchant's Lunch
To entertain the queen'
I grabbed my hat
And, in an instant, he was on his feet
I was sober as a judge
Down at the county seat
He kept his diesel up to eighty
Way past Baton Rouge
Made it back to Beaumont for the evening news

He owns a wide-load rig
I pay thousands in tax
He's gonna keep it in Texas
I ain't leavin' for snacks
He's a drivin' fool
The interstate belongs to me
But I am never goin' back
Into the state of Tennessee
Oh, the Merchant's Lunch, it was an ocean of gloom
It looked like half past midnight in the afternoon

Source: transcription from Red Clay Ramblers 'The Merchant's Lunch' Flying Fish 055 [1977]

--Stewie.