I went looking for my sweetie girl
Down where the streets are crossed
When she wasn't leaning on the light pole
I felt surely I was lost
'Cause I always find her here
At this time every night
When I feel the urge to get me
A little early morning delight

Walking to the roominghouse
My stomach surely sank
What if they had picked her up
And threw her in the tank?
What if she got busted?
Or what if she got cut?
What if some dumb crazy mark
Had sunk a shiv into her gut?

Old Morty he was working
Behind the flophouse desk
Luckily he quickly put
My racing mind to rest
He had seen my sweetie girl
With a new rich customer
Who had rented out three rooms
And if I wanted to see her, he said

Go on, check one-two
Or maybe check one-eight
You might even check two-seven if you think
It's not too late
She was here at least an hour ago
On what looked like a real hot date
So check one-two
Or maybe check one-eight

So I walked over to room twelve
And knocked for half a minute
When the cleaning lady came up and said
There's no one in it
To room eighteen I jumped and
Peaked in through the curtain
But all I saw was a used up Murphy bed
Of that I was certain

I took a little stroll
Across the parking lot
When I got to twenty-seven
I didn't need to knock
The door was left wide open and
The TV was still on and
A bright pink piece of rubber
Was floating in the john

Back to the office
I burst through Morty's door
Yelling at him that I had not found
That horrible woman
She was probably out hooking back up town
Working on her feet
So I slapped the old man and
Told him that I can't be beat

I checked twelfth avenue
Where it crosses eighteenth street
On up to old two-seven but
Them boys were selling meat
That night I didn't find my sweetie girl
She had vanished for all I knew
But every night since then
I still go back and check one-two

Yes every night since then
I still go back and check one-two