Coach and Six: The Tablecloth Cathedral

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Frank Allen in 1962, raising those chandeliers at 1776 Peachtree,
Helen by his side, starching the linens white as old money vows.
Charlie Miller at the door, forty years of names like passwords,
Jessie Mae Johnson gliding with trays, her smile a quiet contract.
Prime rib carved under the glow, onion rings batter-crisp secrets.

[Chorus]
In the tablecloth cathedral, red leather booths hold the confessions,
Caesar salads dressed tableside, flames dancing on the silver.
Buckhead evenings stretched long, deals sealed over crystal clinks,
From the first jacket required to that last December 31, 2007 toast.
Elegance wasn't just the menu, it was the air we breathed there.

[Verse 2]
World War II vet Frank, building this haven from coastal dreams,
Helen's touch on every napkin fold, impeccable as her poise.
Patrons in booths, anniversaries marked by the same corner spot,
Charlie recalling your scotch preference, Jessie Mae with the bread basket warm.
Onion rings legendary, prime rib a ritual, flames leaping for effect.

[Bridge]
And now the building stands quiet, but those booths remember the weight
Of proposals, graduations, the subtle art of Atlanta's refined nights.
No dirge here, just a nod to what fed the city's suave heart.

[Verse 3]
David Miller once said it was where birthdays bloomed,
Charlie's quote in the Journal, institutions like this birth families.
From modest start to upscale throne, jacket rule a gentle law,
Closing night murmurs, final aromas of roast and cigar haze.
Helen gone in '89, Frank in '93, but the legacy lingers in memory's menu.

[Outro]