Well Janey's got a doctor who tears apart her insides.

He investigates her and silently bates her every little sigh.

Oh, he probes with his fingers but he knows her heart only through a stethescope.

Oh, his hands are so old and his instruments so cold

Janey turns him down like dope.

 

And Janey's got a proctor.  From his marble pulpit he smiles.

He provides consolation and an open invitation to confession at any time.

Between the pages of his bible he holds from what Janey he hides.

With her doors open wide she begs "Come inside."

He's too long been content to mess around with the handles on the outside.

 

And Janey needs a shooter

A shooter like this boy on her side

Janey needs a shooter

Someone who knows her style

And I know her style

 

Well Janey loved a mechanic who owned a gas station down on Route 9.

Well she took him to bed and I beat my head on *his gas tanks and bled all over his tires.

And then he smashed my car with big tow bar.  I got out and asked him why.

He said, "'Cuz with her it's either you or me, and it's gonna be me."

And I watched Janey silently stand by.

 

Then she flopped with a cop who lived 'round the block.

He'd come peak in my window every night.

Janey's skin would turn pale as the siren he'd wail outside my house all night long when he knew she was inside.

She said his big gun was fun but Janey's small, and sometimes he scared her.

So I held her real close.  She was more a saint than a ghost.

And told her I so long had been prepared for her.

 

And Janey needs a shooter

A shooter just like me on her side

Janey needs a shooter

Somebody who won't let her slide 

And I can't let her slide

 

Woah, stay in here tonight, baby, and I won't let you slide.

I'm stayin' here tonight, woah, Janey, and I won't let you slide.

I'm stayin' here tonight.  Baby I'm a-can'(t) let you slide.