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[ More Bruce Springsteen lyrics ]
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Artist/Band: Bruce Springsteen
Lyrics for Song: Jungleland
Lyrics for Album: Collection 1973-1984 [2010]



The Rangers had a homecoming

In Harlem late last night

And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine

Over the Jersey State line

Barefoot girl sittin' on the hood of a Dodge

Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain

The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants

Together they take a stab at romance

And disappear down Flamingo Lane



Well the Maximum Lawmen run down Flamingo

Chasing the Rat and the Barefoot Girl

And the kids round here look just like shadows

Always quiet, holdin' hands

From the churches to the jails

Tonight all is silence in the world

As we take our stand

Down in Jungleland



The midnight gang's assembled

And picked a renedzvous for the night

They'll meet me 'neath that giant Exxon sigh

That brings this fair city light

Man there's an opera out on the Turnpike

There's a ballet being fought out in the alley

Until the local cops

Cherry tops

Rips this holy night

The street's alive

As secret debts are paid

Contacts made, they vanish unseen

Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades

Hustlin' for the record machine

The hungry and the hunted

Explode into rock'n'roll bands

That face off against each other out in the street

Down in Jungleland



In the parking lot the visionaries

Dress in the latest rage

Inside the backstreet girls are dancin'

To the records that the DJ plays

Lonely-hearted lovers

Struggle in dark corners

Desperate as the night moves on

Just one look

And a whisper, and they're gone



Beneath the city two hearts beat

Soul engines runnin' through a night so tender

In a bedroom locked

In whispers of soft refusal

And then surrender

In the tunnels uptown

The Rat's own dream guns him down

As shots echo down them hallways in the night

No one watches as the ambulance pulls away

Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light



Outside the street's on fire

In a real death watlz

Between what's flesh and what's fantasy

And the poets down here

Don't write nothin' at all

They just stand back and let it all be

And in the quick of a knife

They reach for their moment

And try to make an honest stand

But they wind up wounded

And not even dead

Tonight in Jungleland


Napaca.