Let me tell you 'bout the girl,
That I met in the chantecler,
Back when I was sixteen.
She was beautiful,
She danced for the people in a way,
That I had never seen.

Lord, she was a beauty,
Dancing was her duty,
To the music of the band.
Folks come in the chantecler,
She would dance and they would stare,
I was lost in wonderland.

I would go there sunday nights
To play some music, drink some whiskey,
Watch her dance and greet the sun.
I would go there sunday nights
To play some music, drink some whiskey,
Drive her home when she was done.

Seems I spend a lot of sunday nights that way,
Drinking whiskey, living in a trance.
Hanging round the chantecler, doing my best not to stare
And watching that girl dance.

This was Baltimore, back in the 50s,

A lovely place to be.
The worries of the world did not exist then,
At least looking back it seems that way to me.

I had never seen a live girl dancing with no clothes on,
Gracious, what charisma she possessed.
I would go downstairs and talk to her through the front door
Of a dressing room, while she got dressed.

Every sunday night I could not wait to see her,
Every sunday night it was the same.
Every ounce of my existence threatened to break out
Into total unabashed burning flame.

I know you never rest,
But no we never made love,
That could not be at the time,
But you filled my live with deep infatuation
And semi-drunken sunday night sublime.

Yes, you filled my live with deep infatuation
And semi-drunken sunday night sublime.