I tried to join a jazz band – better get to work on my jazz hand
I heard down the club you only really need one good one.
I was working in the amusement park, see
getting fed up at the sound of my dogs bark
A single man.
A serious man was what I craved to be
the genius of the dischord,
yeah this is the life for me.
Imagine those late nights?
The soft hum of the low lamp lights
New Orleans club, the occasional gentleman fights
And I’d learn to start liking whiskey,
get away from mates, Liam, Gary and Ross
show ol’ Django who’s really the boss
yeah I could get into this.
So I started, the morning of an audition,
smoke a cool cig, learn the suits of 50’s fashion
And inscribed in my diary ‘the day I tried to
join a jazz band. It’s time to earn my wrinkles’.
Anyway, the smoking went down the pan,
but we won them over fan after fan and
my diary came more interesting than I thought I am:
May 19th – Foix Gras in Bordeux Cafe
23rd – Paella by Barcelona Sea
29th – Burgers in slow American Diner
And that was when it hit me.
The slaughterhouse couldn’t be more than 20 miles from this place
This is a fact no colourful milkshake or frilly frocked girl in rollerskates could distract from for too long.
The music became revision, revision revision,
and the tinted glasses I didn’t actually need started to blur my vision.
The sweet German jazz club, was round the corner from a former Nazi Youth hub,
and I knew there was nothing (I) could do.
Now these hands, you see
they operate turnstiles. And twist knobs. And push Buttons. And pull a lever.
I couldn’t just let my frustration seethe(r),
so what have I got to show? One very versatile hand.
But hey, I’ve always been interested in doing magic tricks!