Pastrami on Rye

One day when clouds grew dark and started crying,
And bright and wild flashes cut the air.
The greasy spoon was quiet,
Beside the sounds of skillets frying.
'Til a figure dressed in black claims her own chair.
She glides into her seat,
And she tries to be discreet.
But her sway is enough to catch a wandering eye.
She calls over the waiter with two fingers in the sky,
And orders a pastrami on rye.

The waiter brings a seltzer then turns clammy,
As he gets lost in her eyes a moment more.
A face like hers is easy to remember,
As he's seen it on the news ten times before.
She slips her left hand into her breast pocket,
And plucks one hundred dollars from her blouse.
"You can keep this if you say you never saw me."
"And if you don't, I'll make you quiet as a cold dead mouse."
"No, don't you squeal."
"No no no don't you tell.
"Whatever secrets I've got, they'll be yours as well."
"No, don't you squeal"
"No no no, don't you snitch."
"And, put that mustard on the side or you'll wind up in the ditch."

The waiter walks back to the kitchen with her order,
The payment for his silence in his grip.
Now he would have let her slide and shut his pie hole,
If that little hussy hadn't given lip.
So he offers a proposal, plus the hundred,
"You'll follow me behind the dessert case."
"I bet that you can make a man forget his troubles,"
"And in exchange I won't ring anyone who knows your face."
"No, I won't squeal,"
"No no no, I won't yell."
"We will have a few more secrets,"
"But I'll never tell."
"No, I wont squeal,"
"No no no, I won't switch."
"And here's that mustard beautiful,"
"Would you care to scratch my itch."

She smiles a sweet smile and pulls him closer.
Twirling her two fingers 'round his tie.
"Now what good is having Franklin in your pocket,"
"If you don't get a chance to spend before you die."
She pins his right hand to the table with a steak knife.
And squirts that spicy mustard in his eyes.
"I'm too hungry to kill you sir,"
"But now I really must be going."
"I leave my sandwich on the road,
"Where I can hear your sorry cries."
"No, don't you squeal,"
"No no no, don't you yell."
"Whatever secrets I've got,"
"They'll be yours as well"
"No, don't you squeal,"
"No no no, don't you snitch."
The customers, they came and went,
The nameless faceless dawn imprint,
Who orders eggs or grits or tea,
Become the fleeting memory.
What chances are he won't forget the lady who dropped by,
Who ordered the pastrami on rye.