There’s a corner of a lonesome square
Where forlorn hearts can't be repaired
And the ladies flow on high heeled hopes
With hard promises for sale.
In a runaway’s dream passion’s unreal
When she’s working the streets.

A spotlight cigarette in her anxious hand
Marks lost time wherever she stands.
A dime store bag on her weary shoulder
Stores the vanquished memories.
In her menu of wares one pays even to stare
When she’s working the streets.

She can pick apart any crooked line
On a lonely man’s cruising mile.
"Hey Baby, want some company?
Show me how, you want to shout.
I can bare my soul with a dollar to start,
I can give you treats that are oh so sweet."

So with a painted smile on her broken heart
And a floral bed glazed in her reflection
She keeps her tearful soul under control
It’s just a job, don’t you see.
And there’s no need for love’s cruel misery
When she’s working the streets

She just needs to have some company
When she’s working the streets.