Three waitresses all wearing
  black diamond earrings
  talking about zombies
  and Singapore slings
  no trouble in their faces
  not one anxious voice
  none of the crazy you get
  from too much choice
  the thumb and the satchel
  or the rented Rolls-Royce
  and you think she knows something
  by the second refill
  you think she’s enlightened
  as she totals your bill
  you say “show me the way
  to Barangrill”
  
  Well some say it’s in service
  they say “humble makes pure”
  you’re hoping it’s near Folly
  ‘cause you’re headed that way for sure
  and you just have to laugh
  ‘cause it’s all so crazy
  ah, her mind’s on her boyfriend
  and eggs over easy
  it’s just a trick on you
  her mirrors and your will
  so you ask the truck driver
  on the way to the till
  but he’s just a slave
  to Barangrill
  
  the guy at the gas pumps
  he’s got a lot of soul
  he sings Merry Christmas for you
  just like Nat King Cole
  and he makes up his own tune
  right on the spot
  about whitewalls and windshields
  and this job he’s got
  and you want to get moving
  and you want to stay still
  but lost in the moment
  some longing get’s filled
  and you even forget to ask
  “Hey, where’s Barangrill?”