[Verse 1: Flamenco cante male lead, raw cry over sharp handclaps and cajon] Three in the mornin' in a back room off the square Smoke along the ceiling and a broken wooden chair The kid on the guitar is twenty and he's quick as a thief Rings on every finger and a grudge beneath his teeth He wants the circle for himself, he wants me out the door So every bar he's pushin' it, a little bit more He thinks if he can run it hot enough I'll drop the thread But I've been keepin' compas since he slept inside a crib instead [Hook: Flamenco cante male lead, full band, rasgueado and heels] Hold the count, little brother, twelve beats and they're mine You can run till your strings smoke, I'll be standin' on the line Every hand in this room is a clock, and the clock knows my name Hold the count, and the count holds the room, that's the game [Verse 2: Flamenco cante male lead, harder, muted cupped handclaps under him] He hits a run so fast the candle on the table leans The old men on the bench say ole like they know what it means He's watchin' me out sideways like he's waitin' on a fall Like a bull that thinks the cape is all there is to it at all But a singer in compas doesn't run to catch the train He stands at the station and the train comes round again So I let him spend his fire on the fast end of the bar And I'm countin' every callus he's got left on that guitar [Bridge: Flamenco cante male lead, palmas flip, the muted claps turn sharp and open all at once on now] One, two, three, let him run Four, five, six, let him burn Seven, eight, nine, ten, he's done Eleven, twelve, and now, my turn [Verse 3: Flamenco cante male lead, full band, sharp open handclaps] So I clap it half as fast and I clap it dead on one And the old men drop their glasses and they clap it like a gun Then the dancer in the corner sets her heels upon my clock And the whole room's on my hands now like a key inside a lock The kid is playin' fast, but he is playin' on my time Every bar he tries to break away he lands inside of mine He looks up from the frets with all that sweat across his brow I said you can have the circle, kid, you're in my compas now [Hook: Flamenco cante male lead, full band, rasgueado and heels] Hold the count, little brother, twelve beats and they're mine You can run till your strings smoke, I'll be standin' on the line Every hand in this room is a clock, and the clock knows my name Hold the count, and the count holds the room, that's the game [End]
