Please, Mister, please, don’t play B-17
It was our song, it was his song, but it’s over
Don’t put another dime in the jukebox
I don’t wanna hear that song no more
Prop me up beside the jukebox, if I die
Lord, I wanna go to heaven, I just don’t wanna go tonight
Fill my boots up with sand
Put a stiff drink in my hand
People can pay their last respects one quarter at a time…
Moppin‘ up sodapop rickeys
To our heart’s delight
Dancin‘ to swingeroo quickies
Jukebox saturday night
Goodman and Kyser and Miller
Help to make things bright
Mixin‘ hot licks with vanilla
Jukebox saturday night
Oh, don’t give us none of your aggravation
We had it with your discipline
Oh, Saturday night’s alright for fighting
Get a little action in
And the man in the back said everyone attack
And it turned into a ballroom blitz
And the girl in the corner said boy I want to warn you
It’ll turn into a ballroom blitz
Ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz
Think I got your dial tone
Think I got billy baxter’s bone
Think I got a bubble-sac
Think I got a big mac attack
My arms are missing you,
My lips feel the same way too,
I tried so hard to be true, like I promised to do,
But this guy keeps comin’ around,
He’s tryin’ to wear my resistance down.
Hey, Jimmy, Jimmy,
Oh, Jimmy Mack, when are you comin’ back?
There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down
Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Ooh that’s why I’m easy,
I’m easy like Sunday morning.
That’s why I’m easy,
I’m easy like Sunday morning.
Monday, Monday
Can’t trust that say,
Monday, Monday,
Sometimes it just turns out thst way
I don’t like Mondays
I wanna shoot, ooo
The whole day down
Shooting at the walls of heartache bang, bang
I am the warrior
I’m a hussar, I’m a Hun, I’m a wretched Englishman
Routing Bonaparte at Waterloo
I’m a dragoon on a dun, I’m a Cossack on the run
I’m a horse soldier, timeless, through and through
'Cause I’m a picker, I’m a grinner
I’m a lover, and I’m a sinner
I play my music in the sun
I’m a joker, I’m a smoker
I’m a midnight toker
I sure don’t want to hurt no one
‘Cause where I come from
It’s cornbread and chicken
Where I come from a lotta front porch pickin’
Where I come from, tryin’ to make a livin’
And workin’ hard to get to heaven
Where I come from
(THIS THREAD IS TWO YEARS OLD!!!)
It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled
It’s been a long time since I did the Stroll
Oh let me get it back let me get it back
Let me get it back baby where I come from
Six of one and half a dozen
Black guitars and plastic blues
Hide behind a wall of nothing
Nothing said and nothing new
Four chords that made a million
He’s got a union card
And he’s practicin’ hard
To play the gitar
Gonna’ be a big star
Yeah he’s gonna go far
An’ carry moonbeams home in a jar!
He ordered Chet’s guitar course COD
Makes A&E an’ he’s workin’ on B
Digs C&W&R&B and me and a chimpanzee
Agree that one day soon he’ll be
A celebrity