Down where the jazz bass thumps the floor
Deep in the gut of a cellar door
The city breathes a heavy grey
While the cabby drives the night away
Hear the copper humming low
Where the hidden currents flow
Swaying in the Windy City
Cold and hard but strangely pretty
A weather vane beneath the street
Feeling every rhythmic beat
It spins a circle in the dark
Far below the frozen park
Hear the copper humming low
Where the hidden currents flow
Swaying in the Windy City
Cold and hard but strangely pretty
The fare is cheap the wind is mean
The asphalt wears a greasy sheen
Old iron pipes begin to shake
While the sleeping suburbs wake
Hear the copper humming low
Where the hidden currents flow
Swaying in the Windy City
Cold and hard but strangely pretty
A rusted nail a bent-up pin
Where the basement air grows thin
It tastes of salt and ancient brine
Crossing every yellow line
Shift the gear and hit the brake
Feel the heavy concrete quake
Higher than the baritone
Singing in a copper tone
The meter clicks a steady pace
Lines are etched on a driver's face
He knows the secrets of the drain
Underneath the freezing rain
Hear the copper humming low
Where the hidden currents flow
Swaying in the Windy City
Cold and hard but strangely pretty
Copper hum, copper hum.
Spinning till the morning comes.
