Licking the Chops [1930 slang]
Just copped a fraughty issue earlier in the bright
Need to feel murder
So I air out to jam with the jacks
This early black I jump in port
Passing several yard dogs
And a couple of pounders
Before arriving to the joint
Once I get to this frolic pad
Rock Hill Night Club
The cats are frisking the whiskers
I'm the hep cat of the group on the doghouse
Last black I have put new strings on it
I have brought my oomph girl along
She's a fine dinner
We had hoover flags a set on seven brights ago
So we had hoover blankets to keep warm every black
Could not collar enough dough
With the skiffle we hosted for the rent
So was evicted
Yet I've been able to save enough lettuce
To get back my zoot suit out of the hock shop
Am togged to the bricks
I have a nickle note in my mouse
Been ages I've had one of them
Usually have less than a simoleon
Do you know how difficult to have ground rations?
Near a free food dump in the Big Apple
Would have a killer-diller if we were inside our own pad
All we could get our mitts on were break-ups
We didn't fog at the right time
I hear [Albert] speak, who is on the ironworks
Which he will break it up
He's a barrelhouse
He tells [Andrew]
'Stop spoutingand give us some groovy licks
on that gob stick of yours'
When he doesn't have his gob stick in his kisser
He likes to beat up the chops
Then there's this wolf [Auggie] on the squeeze box
We have a shadow [Jim] on his reeds
There's also [Adela] with the tram who's a gasser
On the belly-fiddle [Ashley] which gives hard spiel
Then there's this pimp [Damon] who brings his tootsy [Cindy]
He beats the hides
He always has a timber in his kisser
While he beats it
He's great jiving with the aligators
We have this sender [Greg] a scream
who jumps in to sing on occasion
Also a bit of fluff [Cydie] croons
What an out of the world canary she is indeed
This evening she brought along her main on the hitch [Bob]
When both imbibe too much scrap iron
They ingage in playing the dozen
The crowd to our left
Just befor you get to the johns
Are those three-letter men
At the bar as always is that gator forced
Later he's been a wet smack
He gripes my soul
He has these shaky gams on occasion
His pal use to come out to jam with his squeeze box
He eventually has too much juice
That he begins to rank the music's style
He use to keep company with a bich kitty
Haven't seen neither for three months
Most of the gates would love to
Get their dukes on her maracas
Some of the musicians hinge at it too much
That they would play corny
It went sadder than a map
With their relationship
When she began to imbibe too much sauce
They were finding themselves without any moolah
Not even hay
All of a sudden the jam becomes a clambake
evntually this babe [Sara] begins to croon
And we begin to get back in the groove
She's always a hummer while roofing with
One could just moon digging into her glims
Every black this joint is jumping
This black is no reception
Then this rug cutter[Matt] comes to the dance floor
To lay some iron that was kopasetic
We've only been here a little over a chime
When this chick with a foghorn and cogs on her face
Along with nifty drapes
Had the moxie to louse up this hep boogie woogie
Then comes these two sisters to the main kick
[Maynah] and [Maggie]
These gabriels' playing are dicty
Although over do it at times
When they are gamming
Their growls are mezz
We stay until brightning
Then head back to my domi
At the [G.G. Mama's apartments
While entering two bombshells {Nancy] and [Barbara] exits
poem by R.K. Cowles
Added by Poetry Lover
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