Doowop, doowop.
Doowop bebop shadooby.
Wicky-wicky, chicka-chicka,
Doowoppa scooby dooby.
Boobop, baddop,
Badoppawop pizazz!
If you think this poem’s stupid
Then you REALLY must hate jazz.
Tag Archives: Jazz
Was It A Typo Though?
Turns out makin’ music doesn’t mean makin’ money.
That was no news to me, but was news to my honey.
When a man gets poor it’ll do something funny
To almost all the female ears!
When the cashflow slows in the time that you date ‘er
Like the tempo that jazz plays in the elevator
Then don’t be surprised, and do anticipate ‘er
Not boppin’ you for quite a few years!
Yeah, I do remember the times in the twenties
When a man could bop all night long,
But come year ’30 we ain’t playin’ too dirty
And a depression is comin’ on strong!
I’m no type of teacher, but you oughta be knowin’
Where this job playin’ jazzes is probably goin’…
Come late at night you’ll be the only one blowin’.
Sorry bro, but them is the fac’s.
Better practice your ‘prov and practice your scales, especially for playin’ the blues…
Between big simple cash and a big cymbal crash you know what a woman will choose…
The little metals guys who hold your keys in place will be the only thing that she screws…
That’s life when she’s withholding the sax!
Filed under Poems
Morning Sax
When I wake up in the morning
And look at your sleeping face
I feel like I’ve got everything,
Just like J.P. Morgan Chase.
I know that you’re still sleeping.
Makes sense, ’cause it’s 5:03,
But I just have to surprise you
With the greatest part of me,
And so I whip out my saxophone
And lick the reed ’til it’s damp
Then it’s you and me at 5:03
And a cover of John Mellencamp.
I gave you morning sax!
Comso says it’s great.
I gave you morning sax
‘Cause funky just can’t wait.
I gave you morning sax!
I’d say that’s pretty fly.
I wanted you to say “Oh God yes!”
But I’ll settle for “Oh God, why?!”
When you wake up in the morning
And see my body lying prone
In a pool of hot red blood
Clutching my saxophone
At first you’re shocked and worried
But you throw some coffee down
And remember last night’s victory
As you drive into town.
And as I lie, still bleeding
From the opening in my head
I dream about tomorrow
When I’ll play Kenny G instead.
I’ll give you morning sax!
It’s better the second time.
I’ll give you morning sax!
I’m sure it will be fine.
I’ll give you morning sax!
Sure, it’s a taxing gig
But I just love that moment
When your eyes get so, so big!
I played for you the morning
Of the day I finally died.
When the doctor shared the news
I like to think you cried.
You told me you lack self-control
Before you are awake
And that any more at 5:04
Was more than you could take.
As you call the undertaker
And they ask if you will hold
I only hope that waiting music
Makes your heart a bit less cold.
Now you’ll hear mourning sax!
It don’t mean a thing.
Enjoy the mourning sax!
All you had to do was sing…
There’s no more morning sax!
Let that sink into your brain
As you take five, my satin doll,
Riding home on the “A” train…
(Fading out)
How long will it take to Bari me?
Tenor so minutes.
A little Charlie Bird told me.
I’m on a Coltrane to Hell.
The Daily Travesty 