By day
He's a grease monkey it's true
A slave

Fix your transmission like new
Change oil
Rotate your tires of course

He toils
Under the Flying Red Horse
And at six he rolls

Down his sleeves
Turns his collar up
When the boss man leaves

Close up the shop
Puts away his tools
Gives the last car keys

To the gas pump fools
Then he's home at last
No more goodwrench scene

And he scrubs his hands
Till they're surgeon clean
Takes a long hot shower

Some cologne and then
The change is complete
He's himself again

At night he's Doctor Sax
He's Mister Tenor Virtuoso
He plays to rhythm tracks on tape

No one like Doctor Sax
Not even Trane or Bird could blow so
The girls have heart attacks, they say

(He'll put it all on wax one day)
Some day
He will live just in his mind

Some way
Leave all his misery behind
His horn

He will blow breaking the curse
Reborn
Under the Flying Red Horse