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I am so poor, I have no shoes. I love that blonde girl from across the bayou, but her Mama won’t have me in the house. Hey, pretty dark-haired girl, want to dance with a poor man? See how well we dance together, four bare feet in time.
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6 comments:
the purple colour and the polka salad zydeco tub-men...
skin another chicken mother Zeph and tell us more...
"Not till the music stops, cher".
I was looking out some cajun music for our friend File and the voices stayed in my mind...
New Orleans was the only bit of the USA I ever wanted to visit and now where has it gone?
nobody can drown the music...
leadbelly, jellyroll morton,..
maybe if al gore gets up there might be a revival along Conti Street of river ramblers, huck finns, and corner-tappers for C21... as long as tourism, real estate, crime, and misguided rebuilding, hasn't trod the golden goose into the Mississippi mud forever...
A little bit of cajun music:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejZKkT7W6wg
like this one Z, a flick of your brush and you've caught the catfish on a hair, it's the neverending eternal again isn't it? But with gumbo, Arcadian accordion and chevies in the broken levvies, in the words of the undeniable doctor 'skin another chicken mother Z!'
I can hear music in this without going to the links. Zeph: it's like your SF poem - full of notes.
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