(Estrada)
I was out at Sarge’s bar down in south Louisiana, back in 1972
A voice came on the radio talking ‘bout a madman, a Killer on the loose.
Black or white he would strike like a hammer, leave no blood stains on the floor
Those Uprights and 88’s, Honky Tonks and Steinways were all under his control
Chorus:
What's a man supposed to do?
The Killer’s on the loose
Quarter past 10, put the drink to my lips, felt like someone was lurking outside
Another quarter in the jukebox, another round of courage - ain’t no time to close your eyes
Now it’s been said he shows up ’round midnight once the town has gone to sleep
You can tell where he’s been by the blisters on his fingers and the groove marks in the keys
Two a.m. a man walks in and heads straight to the back of the room
With the bar now closed, yes, I was all alone with no clue what was ‘bout to go down
He sat down and ran that glissando made famous the whole world over.
Right hand a flailing like he’s on fire, with his left hand pounding “the four”
And it seems I already knew...
Killer’s on the loose
