One man one man
One bar one night
One day hey hey
Just gimme gimme gimme gimme
Fried chicken
Ah, gimme dat, gimme dat, gimme, gimme, gimme dat
Gimme dat ding, gimme dat, gimme, gimme dat
Gimme dat ding, gimme dat, gimme, gimme dat
Gimme, gimme, gimme, dat ding
We gotta clean it up
Cause it’s so dope
Tried the rubbing alcohol, even the Ivory soap
But no matter what we do, the record keeps clickin’
FUCK IT! – Evil E, give me some of that damn fried chicken!
Say, there’s a place in New Orleans
That serves fried chicken with turnip greens
Crawfish bisque that’ll treat you right
And Papa Joe plays there ev’ry night
Have some more chicken, have some more pie
It doesn’t matter if it’s boiled or fried
Just eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it
Don’t you make me repeat it (oh no)
Have a banana, have a whole bunch
It doesn’t matter what you had for lunch
Just eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it
Buying bread from a man in Brussels
He was six foot four and full of muscles
I said, “Do you speak-a my language?”
He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich
Jeremiah was a bullfrog
Was a good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said
But I helped him drink his wine
And he always had some mighty fine wine
Bottle of wine,
Fruit of the vine,
When you gonna let me get sober?
Leave me alone,
Let me go home,
Let me go home and start over
Red, red wine
Goes to my head
Makes me forget that I
Still need her so
Red, red wine
It’s up to you
All I can do, I’ve done
But memories won’t go
Oh don’t give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit
No, don’t you give me no more of that Old Janx Spirit
For my head will fly, my tongue will lie, my eyes will fry and I may die
Won’t you pour me one more of that sinful Old Janx Spirit
But now the days grow short, I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs, and it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year
From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It’s all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-colored yellow,
So I sweep them in my sack.
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac.
Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn’t got time for the waiting game
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I’ll spend with you
(January)
You start the year all fine
(February)
You’re my little Valentine
(March)
I’m gonna march you down the aisle
(April)
You’re the Easter bunny
When you smile
In your Easter bonnet
With all the frills upon it
You’ll be the grandest lady
In the Easter Parade
I’ll be all in clover
And when they look you over
I’ll be the proudest fella
In the Easter Parade
I love a parade
The tramping of feet
I love every beat I hear of a drum
I love a parade
When I hear a band
I just want to stand and cheer as they come
Yes the New Ashmolean
Could have beat Napoleon
With all those deadly instruments at hand
There are those who favor the philharmonic flavor
But to me the finest in the land
Is the New Ashmolean Marching Society and Students Conservatory Band
Seventy-six trombones led the big parade
With a hundred and ten cornets close at hand.
They were followed by rows and rows of the finest virtuo-
Sos, the cream of ev’ry famous band.
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright
You ain’t been blue; no, no, no.
You ain’t been blue,
Till you’ve had that mood indigo.
That feelin’ goes stealin’ down to my shoes
While I sit and sigh, “Go 'long blues”.