Lyrics
SOUTH STYLE’S MERRY CHRISTMAS IN A BAR THAT ISN’T REAL:
(A Ragtime Two Step for the Sad Luck Gang)
South style thumper
Plugs away at the page,
Everything going all
At once now, a big deal
He is, in this world.
She would laugh like
Madman’s keys, striking
Like gold, grimacing
At the top, sudden,
Sharp, perfect and tight.
South style keeps
His game clean, no,
Not a midget shot for him,
Still, could slurp one
Out of mad sadness.
Chalk it up to lack of
Scrab, or maybe Mingus
Talking to his
Unconscious from 86’
South style wonders,
Then turns to worry but
Things are coming
Together now, and it
Should all work out for
Him and his in the end.
A pox played finger roll
Kneads out the beats
From the back of the bar
And the mixer for a
Margarita provides the
Squeal of the Sax and
High Tone harps about
Straight 8 Johnny G’s
Eight ball in his pocket
And South style struts
And crimps in shadowed
Stage silences, fingers
Glaring and bleating to
Be shrugged off by snores
From the chairs.
Things are sweet in stride.
copyright 2002 by Seth Barkan
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