"Wild Billy's Circus Story" lyrics
Ah-one, two, three, four
The machinist climbs his ferris wheel like a brave
And the fire eater's lying in a pool of sweat, victim of the heatwave
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens his legs on the sword swallower's blade
And circus town's on the shortwave
Well the runway lies ahead like a great false dawn
Whoa, fat lady, big mama, Missy Bimbo sits in her chair and yawns
And the man-beast lies in his cage sniffing popcorn
As the midget licks his fingers and suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Whoa, and a press roll drummer go, ballerina to and fro
Cartwheeling up on that tightrope with a cannon blast lighting flash
Moving fast through the tent Mars bent, he's gonna miss his fall
Oh God save the human cannonball
And the flying Zambinis watch Margarita do her neck twist
And the ringmaster gets the crowd to count along: "Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven"
A ragged suitcase in his hand, he steals silently away from the circus grounds
And the highway's haunted by the carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint ghost on the wind
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face, a crazy grin
Running home to some small Ohio town
Jesus send some good women to save all your clowns
And circus boy dances like a monkey on barbed wire
And the barker romances with a junkie, she's got a flat tire
And now the elephants dance real funky and the band plays like a jungle fire
Circus town's on the live wire
And the strong man Samson lifts the midget little Tiny Tim way up on his shoulders, way up
And carries him on down the midway past the kids, past the sailors
To his dimly lit trailer
And the ferris wheel turns and turns like it ain't ever gonna stop
And the circus boss leans over, whispers into the little boy's ear "Hey son, you want to try the big top?"
All aboard, Nebraska's our next stop
The machinist climbs his ferris wheel like a brave
And the fire eater's lying in a pool of sweat, victim of the heatwave
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens his legs on the sword swallower's blade
And circus town's on the shortwave
Well the runway lies ahead like a great false dawn
Whoa, fat lady, big mama, Missy Bimbo sits in her chair and yawns
And the man-beast lies in his cage sniffing popcorn
As the midget licks his fingers and suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Whoa, and a press roll drummer go, ballerina to and fro
Cartwheeling up on that tightrope with a cannon blast lighting flash
Moving fast through the tent Mars bent, he's gonna miss his fall
Oh God save the human cannonball
And the flying Zambinis watch Margarita do her neck twist
And the ringmaster gets the crowd to count along: "Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven"
A ragged suitcase in his hand, he steals silently away from the circus grounds
And the highway's haunted by the carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint ghost on the wind
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face, a crazy grin
Running home to some small Ohio town
Jesus send some good women to save all your clowns
And circus boy dances like a monkey on barbed wire
And the barker romances with a junkie, she's got a flat tire
And now the elephants dance real funky and the band plays like a jungle fire
Circus town's on the live wire
And the strong man Samson lifts the midget little Tiny Tim way up on his shoulders, way up
And carries him on down the midway past the kids, past the sailors
To his dimly lit trailer
And the ferris wheel turns and turns like it ain't ever gonna stop
And the circus boss leans over, whispers into the little boy's ear "Hey son, you want to try the big top?"
All aboard, Nebraska's our next stop
Writer(s): Bruce Springsteen
