Tonight I rolled into Butte, Montana. Beating the M&M Bar’s last call. Gram Parsons sang on the jukebox. “Streets of Baltimore.” Mona loved that song And I never done her wrong.
Last week in Bozeman, Montana I woke to an empty bed No sign of Mona. Only a burning egg And a note saying don’t follow her, Because she never liked this town.
So it’s last call in Butte, Montana One whiskey, one beer And still no sign on Mona But I keep seeing her here.
She wasn’t in Lakeside or Malta, Montana Not a trace in Helena or Great Falls too. So I drove west on I-90 I always knew where she had gone.
Last call in Butte, Montana Holding hands with a can of beer And still no sign of Mona, But I keep seeing her here.
Mona loved the lights at the M&M. She loved the cowboys too. The bartender looked at her photo He said, “Two night ago she came through.” She hadn’t said where she was going, Because this was where she’d gone.
Last call in Butte, Montana Holding hands with a can of beer And still no sign of Mona, But I keep seeing her here.
I nodded my head and left the M&M The bartender was happy to see me go. Out on North Main Street Rain keeps coming down Every drop hitting my face Making me feel like a clown
High heels on the sidewalk I know that sound Mona was coming here To save me from all my fears Especially Butte, Montana Because we both loved it here.
THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V4NoboSq6w
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