He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way. He had a boogie style that no one else could play. He was the top man at his craft, but then his number
Still, so, here we go, nighthawk calls again Meeting after midnight like we do Flesh bared, never scared, know their kind too well Grab that Gretsch before
He wakes up every Sunday morning with a smile on his face Today's the day he's always waitin' for He cleans his bugle and packs it in it's case He's in
The country is riddled with social ills and aches But my heart is calmed by her embrace I'm trying to tell something to the world But my words are slurred
Spring is here and the sky is so very blue. Whoa-o-o-o, birds all sing as if they knew, today's the day we'll say, "I do," and we'll never be lonely anymore
J'entends sonner les clairons: c'est le chant des amours mortes. J'entends battre le tambour: c'est le glas pour nos amours. Sur le champ de nos batailles
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