Soft notes escaping from the Harlem window as big old Buicks
cruise down Fifth Avenue and dine on dance clubs until dawn
Ella and the Count are everywhere and anywhere for all hip cats
to dig and find a place to jump on
The golden horns and smoky air intoxicate the modern soul
that yearns for the truth about what momma told them
Listen closely for a Blue Moon to saddle up the past with real
dollars and very tiny income
Red rose gardens and whitewashed school books suddenly
make sense in the cool reefer night
Forgetting the style and not caring for rules the cats bob and weave
as the bats fly out and give you a crazy bite
Jazz from the earth and Jazz from the sky, calling for the east
and calling for the west
drums beating loud for the cattle call that rounds up
Harlem’s best
Soft notes escaping from an empty loft near the park that
fall on the sidewalk until the ghosts move along
Victrola heaven cranks orders from the magician’s
vocal chords that tap out the broken heart’s song
Get up right now and head to the store, the radio, or the
old smoky club
Your jazz is waiting patiently and you never have to
show the man your ticket stub