Feel that wet concrete through the seat of your jeans 
No cab-fare, just the cold air 
You're a man without means. 
A bank roll lighter and light years older 
Someone's hand was in your pocket 
While they cried on your shoulder. 

Don't stare at that man in the tropic white suit, ah! 
He may mop his brow but he's liable to shoot yah! 
He's no Peter Lorre, he's no merry prankster, 
He'll help you to find out 
Why they put "angst" into "ganster". 

Bad Luck is no exclusive club 
They just make you a member. 

Sometimes it's easy to forget where you are 
When Marseilles seems just a day away 
Before this Singapore bar. 
Asking a Joe, does he know somewhere finer 
Then a blow up and your show up 
On a slower boat to China. 

And a head that might be yours 
Is aching on a lower bunk 
Did you really set to sea 
To be a sailor on this junk?