Tropical night, Malaria moon

Dying stars of the silver screen

She danced that famous Gypsy dance

With a hole in her tambourine



I was young enough and dumb enough

I swallowed down my Mickey Finn

She'd hijacked a few hearts all right

I went into a tailspin



Don't sing me, don't sing me, don't sing me

No more gypsy love songs

Don't sing me, don't sing me, don't sing me

No more gypsy love songs

Don't stir it up again



I put my arm around her waist

Says she, young man, you're getting warm

The room was going somewhere without me

And she laughed as she read my palm



Chorus



Stillborn love, passionate dreams, pitiful greed

And the silver tongues of the tinker girls,

Who throw their book of life at you

But don't know how to read



She was third generation Transylvanian

I was the seventh son of a seventh son

I begged the band don't play that tune

Please don't beguine the begun



When I awoke, she'd cut and run

She stole my blueprints and my change

Just a horseshoe and a note on the bed

And all it said was--strange



Chorus