The Whiskeytown Roadhouse
Set ‘em up -- slow down
Sawdust, neon and sin
Count on a full house
Whenever it’s cold out
Count on the Whiskeytown Roadhouse
To win

Dan is the man at the bar and he knows what you need
A shot of Jim Beam or a joke about a rabbi and priest
For a while you can smile, forget all the trouble outside
In here there’s a crowd that sings loud when they play “Mama Tried”

Isabel came round the horn in 1849
You can’t resist when she says stay until closing time
A siren of teak, she reclines beside the jukebox
She’ll buy you a round, then laugh when you wreck on the rocks

On the wall there’s a Gibson guitar with cigarette scars
Dan turns down the lights, tunes up, comes from behind the bar
He sings of miners, of lovers, survivors and ghosts
They’ll haunt you long after the Whiskeytown Roadhouse is closed