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Search results for 'morning blues by bob crosby'

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morning blues
Had an aching head that I wished I could lose
And I looked in the mirror, nearly died of fright
Those morning blues, ten times worse than last
Jean Claude: Now Madame Blueberry was a sad little berry
She lived by herself in a house in a tree.
Her butlers would show up each morning at nine
filled with a lot of lovers and dreams and songs
And mornings mostly found us in places we did not belong

But those were the days (those were the days)
Aynsley Dunbar (drums)
Jim Pons (bass, vocals, dialog)
Bob Harris (keyboards, vocals)
Don Preston (mini-moog)

You are... you gotta tell me something... I
Mr. Uncle Josh. Would you kindly play me some deep southern blues on that hound-dog guitar there. Ah, now that's what I'm talkin' about. Yeah.
See, people are all equal
Smiles are front and behind me
Swim in the deep blue sea corn fields sway lazily
All smiles all easy
Where ya from, what ya
be your last warning once you walk past the doorman
Ali and Foreman gonna lock ass until the morning
Marvellous finances provided by Joseph Mobutu
See, people are all equal
Smiles are front and behind me
Swim in the deep blue sea corn fields sway lazily
All smiles all easy
Where ya from, what ya
considered to be a murderer, a crook
Ali shook the world, I'm gonna shake my homies hand
Three in the morning dressed in blue once again
My size ten rest
be your last warning once you walk past the doorman
Ali and Foreman gonna lock ass until the morning
Marvellous finances provided by Joseph Mobutu
See, people are all equal
Smiles are front and behind me
Swim in the deep blue sea corn fields sway lazily
All smiles all easy
Where ya from, what ya
OK
No ceilings motherfucker
Good morning
Dick in your mouth while you're yawning
I'm goin' in
Gudda, why they started me?
Marley, why they
a checkered double-knit suit drove up in a large El Dorado Cadillac, leased from BOB SPREEN...

("Where the freeways meet in Downey!")

...And he laid
little crimson pinholes sweat on vintage quill venom 
Developed by a fatal blues anthology.
Communities on cue bury their ostrich beaks.
Thought it was