In a tiny, tiny, southern swedish country town 
Two achres of field and a gas-station 
Riding on my moped looking for fun 
Staring in to the blood-red sun 
Oh the country road is a boulevard 
With neon lights and night open bars 
In my jacket a pack of playing cards 
Just jacks, jokers and the queen of hearts 
My heart is beating 
Beating like Ringo 
As I pull in to the drive-in bingo 
Why do the people in the country 
Want to look like the people in the city 
When the people in the city 
Aren't just quite as pretty 
I want the people in the country 
To wear flanell-shirts and saggy jeans 
All covered in dirt 
I want the people in the country to be open and kind 
But most times they met us with a narrow mind 
With the big black dog to bite your behind 
If they ever find out you're not one of their kind 
All these thoughts 
As I opened up a Zingo 
Friday night at the drive-in bingo 
So this is what they do out here for fun 
They play bingo and let their engines run 
Tonights jackpot is a pig, hey that's criminal 
G 42 ooh I'm going diagonal 
I'm gonna gather up a few of my friends 
As many fits into an army tent 
Just bring your savings and a bottle of wine 
To friday nights reversal of time 
This little southwest village 
Shouldn't cost that much 
Maybe a handful of silver or a 100 bucks 
We could have wild, wild partys in that big old lodge 
And windmill's perfect for movies and such 
We could fake our deaths to get insurance money 
Take on hippie names, I'll be Snowface you'll be Sunny 
We could start a little farm with little white bunnies 
Just cause watching them copulate is very funny 
There's a cow and an ostridge - just waiting for you 
A glass of apple cider - just waiting for you 
The smell of 1952 - just waiting for you 
And all I'm doing here is just waiting for you 
A daydream, I'm caught up in limbo 
Friday night at the drive-in bingo