In a tiny, tiny, southern swedish country town
Two achres of field and a gas-station
Riding on my moped looking for fun
Staring in to the blood-red sun

Oh the country road is a boulevard
With neon lights and night open bars
In my jacket a pack of playing cards
Just jacks, jokers and the queen of hearts

My heart is beating
Beating like Ringo
As I pull in to the drive-in bingo

Why do the people in the country
Want to look like the people in the city
When the people in the city
Aren't just quite as pretty
I want the people in the country
To wear flanell-shirts and saggy jeans
All covered in dirt

I want the people in the country to be open and kind
But most times they met us with a narrow mind
With the big black dog to bite your behind
If they ever find out you're not one of their kind

All these thoughts
As I opened up a Zingo
Friday night at the drive-in bingo

So this is what they do out here for fun
They play bingo and let their [bad word] Tonights jackpot is a pig, hey that's criminal
42 ooh I'm going diagonal

I'm gonna gather up a few of my friends
As many fits into an army tent
Just bring your savings and a bottle of wine
To friday nights reversal of time

This little southwest village
Shouldn't cost that much
Maybe a handful of silver or a 100 bucks
We could have wild, wild partys in that big old lodge
And windmill's perfect for movies and such

We could fake our deaths to get insurance money
Take on hippie names, I'll be Snowface you'll be Sunny
We could start a little farm with little white bunnies
Just cause watching them copulate is very funny
There's a cow and an ostridge - just waiting for you
glass of apple cider - just waiting for you
The smell of 1952 - just waiting for you
And all I'm doing here is just waiting for you

daydream, I'm caught up in limbo
Friday night at the drive-in bingo