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#This file is the work of fans and represents their interpretation of the song.# 

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Open All Night - Bruce Springsteen





e-----------|---3-3-3-3-3-3---2----

B-----------|---3-3-6-6-6-5-6p5p3--

G---------3-|----------------------

D-- 3h5-3---|----------------------

A---3h5-----|----------------------

E-----------|----------------------





G

Well, I had the carburator, baby, cleaned and checked



With her line blown out she's hummin' like a turbojet

              C

Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks

         G

For a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks

             D

Took her down to the carwash, check the plugs and point

          G

Well, I'm goin' out tonight. I'm gonna rock that joint





Early north Jersey industrial skyline



I'm a all-set cobra jet creepin' through the nighttime

        C

Gotta find a gas station, gotta find a pay phone

      G

This turnpike sure is spooky at night when you're all alone

       D

Gotta hit the gas, baby. I'm running late

        G                                             | G | G | C | C | D | D |

This New Jersey in the mornin' like a lunar landscape



         G

Now, the boss don't dig me, so he put me on the night shift



It's an all-night run to get back to where my baby lives

        C

In the wee, wee hours your mind gets hazy

   G

Radio relays towers, won't you lead me to my baby?

    D

Underneath the overpass, trooper hits his party light switch

  G

Good night, good luck. One, two power shift





I met Wanda when she was employed



Behind the counter at Route Sixty Bob's Big Boy Fried Chicken

      C

On the front seat, she's sittin' in my lap

        G

We're wipin' our fingers on a Texaco road map

     D

I remember Wanda up on scrap metal hill

           G

With them big brown eyes that make your heart stand still



| G | G | G | G | C | C |

| D | D | D | D | D | D | D | D |



          G

Well, at five a.m., oil pressure's sinkin' fast



I make a pit stop, wipe the windshield, check the gas

    C

Gotta call my baby on the telephone

       G

Let her know that her daddy's comin' on home

        D

Sit tight, little mama, I'm comin' `round

       G

I got three more hours, but I'm coverin' ground





Your eyes get itchy in the wee, wee hours



Sun's just a red ball risin' over them refinery towers

    C

Radio's jammed up with gospel stations

  G

Lost souls callin' long distance salvation

  D

Hey, mister deejay, won'tcha hear my last prayer?

  G

Hey, ho, rock'n'roll, deliver me from nowhere





G                      C                      D

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------—----------—--   --5-5-7-5--5-5-7-5--   --7-7-9-7--7-7-9-7--

--5-5-7-5--5-5-7-5--   --3-3-3-3--3-3-3-3—-   --5-5-5-5--5-5-5-5--

--3-3-3-3--3-3-3-3—-   -----------------—--   -----------------—--