Lyrics:
Hard to comprehend
But baby, you didn't know me when
I played third chair trombone
In an out-of-work polka band
We looked for gigs on ships
In
gig (oh, Slick Rick)
And thought I didn't love you when I did (when I did)
Can't believe you played me out like that (ah)
No, you ain't worth guest
From the Mason-Dixon Line
Through the hills of Caroline
Oh, I'm comin' home
Lookin' back on these ninety days
Hotel blues and the gigs we've played
towards
Groovin' yours
We mash up St. Marteen
(And it's all good)
We dig each gig together
Gettin' downs the business
We're just hittin' yo
this gig sucks!"
"Hey, up yours Springfield"
1-2-3-4
Happy Birthday To You!
(Happy Birthday!)
Happy Birthday To You!
(Happy Birthday!)
Happy Birthday
and roll singer on the television
Giving up his music, gonna take up religion
Deserted rock and roll
To try to save his soul
Saturday night, gotta gig
I heard a song 'bout a ramblin' man
Bought a guitar and I started a band
I got a gig at the local Am Vet
And I was gone and I ain't back yet, yeah
Damn smells like ass
Gig Gig Giggity I'm Yosemite
Sam with the fucking Blow and Hennessy (What)
Mix a lil bit of Crack and Ketamine
Call that shit
one, a met-at-a-gig once
A mean, mean girl
I felt a sick one, she was a quick one
A mean, mean girl
Mean, mean, mean, mean girl
I guess she's not
a met-at-a-gig once
A mean, mean girl
I felt a sick one, she was a quick one
A mean, mean girl
Mean, mean, mean, mean girl
I guess she's not the kind that I
I'm geeing up the whole crown
Yeah
Shits and gigs
Shits and gigs
Yeah
Shits and gigs
Shits and gigs
Yeah yeah
Shits and gigs
Shits and gigs
Shits
In downtown Modesto, I was workin' the Holiday Inn
I would stick with a gig that would last us throughout the weekend
I was singing a new song I'd
far away
From being little more than just a southern state
I got a gig down at the Bowery
I played for tip and watered drinks
Just a novice in
(Winwood/Capaldi)
When I was a young boy I lived for rock 'n' roll
We spent our time playing gigs and traveling on the road
And we didn't have much
Way back in the days
It feels so long ago
But I remember it well
Always looking for a pot of gold
An old beat-up van
We would drive from gig
I go in for singing,
I do it for my pay
But the kind of gig
I can really dig
Is swiggin' at the break of day
With a few good friends
You got a tents gig going in France, baby
An immense gig up in your pants, baby
The kids need something romance, baby
Come on, let's take a chance
born in the shed with the guitar on
we jammed the schtik to do four gigs.
with bits and pieces
of a working thesis (?)
we jammed the schtik to do
heard some corny birds who who tried to sing
Skat:
Still a cat's the only cat who knows how to swing
Bass:
Who wants to dig a long haired gig or stuff
woman's leaving, I feel sad
But I just love the life I lead
Another beer is what I need
Another gig, my ears bleed
We are the road crew
Another
My woman's leaving, I feel sad,
But I just love the life I lead,
Another beer is what I need,
Another gig my ears bleed,
We are the road crew
the time to play the blues!)
Well, one day that contract will expire
One day I will be free
From that nig-ger, nig-gig-gig-ger, nigger biznis
All this
Another town another gig
Again we will explode
Hotel rooms and motorways
Life out here is raw
But we will never stop we will never quit 'cause we are
goin' big
I been gettin' NBA money, Jason Kidd
I just charged a whole damn M for a gig
And I got that Nitro for a pig
I'ma make it spark when you see
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