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Well little Mikey, is only sixteen
He's on top of this punk-rock scene
He's risen his fist full of political pardon
He can't do no wrong and over your life
And his father can't tell him, no one can tell him
He waited this war, he's gonna win the fight
But thirty years later, still singing for tonight

Saturday night, Saturday night, Saturday night, we gotta do it right
Saturday night, Saturday night, Saturday night, tonight's the night
When the clock strikes twelve, the sun is going down
Father's rising up cussing out of your hotel

And the spirits in the streets
And the fire's in the rising
They're living for the moment, and their passion never dies
And she looks him in the face
She said she would never leave him
Her whisper still haunted many
It was still believed

Saturday night, Saturday night, Saturday night, we gotta do it right
Saturday night, Saturday night, Saturday night, tonight's the night
When the clock strikes twelve, the sun's gone down
Father's rising up cussing out of your hotel

I'll go to the bottom of every bottle
The end of the line of every story
Those eyes were missed
Those guys were ever missed
Those were the good old days
I hold it on and cherish
I'll never forget, Yeah

Tonight's the night, we gotta do it right
Tonight's the night, we gotta do it right
Tonight's the night, we gotta do it right
Tonight's the night
The clock strikes twelve, the sun's gone down
Father's rising up cussing out of your hotel

Saturday night, Saturday night
Saturday night, Saturday night
Saturday night, Saturday night
Saturday night, Saturday, we gotta do it right!

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.