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Search results for 'artist/Count-Basie-&-His-All-American-Rhythm-Section/artist/Benson-Boone/2137882164'
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the Yankee trade Only for Americans The Frenchman gets his kisses free But those for which there is a fee Are only for Americans You'll find two prices
a clam who can, Till he gets his gal in a clinch. All-American Man may not get what he wants, For the All-American Girl wears the pants. Like
The Wang Dang Taffy-Apple Tango (Mambo Cha Cha Cha) -Artist: Pat Boone from "Pat Boone's Greatest Hits"-Dot DLP 25455 -peak Billboard position #
An Artist
Uh! Hit it! Uh! Hit it out! Stolen black man, family lost Packed as cargo, ship was tossed Now survives to count the cost He feels the rhythm
swinging Like count basie, swing on Like count basie, swing on Like count basie, swing on Like count basie, swing on Swing on, swing out tonight Hey now
, young American) A pimp's got a Cadi and a lady got a Chrysler (you want the young American) Black's got respect, and white's got his soul train (all
Far above the highest heavens On a throne of crystal light Dwells the God of all creation Rays of wonder crown His might Human voices blend with
, young American) A pimp's got a Cadi and a lady got a Chrysler (you want the young American) Black's got respect, and white's got his soul train (all
, young American) A pimp's got a Cadi and a lady got a Chrysler (you want the young American) Black's got respect, and white's got his soul train (all
I'm an American psycho I wish I dreamt in the shape of your mouth But it's your thread count I really care about Stay up 'til the lights go out
funky rhythms all the while And this song is for the homies who was down with me When I was broke as a joke, flat with no mon-ey And to them
a boy The lead guitarist Red Shea who's really come a long, long way Since rhythm rocker jingle jangle And go Red! And Lightfoot Edwardian,
When I hear a band blowin' basie I can count on losing my cool Take me where the rhythm is racy Let me be a dancin' fool Some prefer the café
P! Real artists Fake artists Hot artists Wack artists Hard artists Soft artists I'm addressing all artists I'm a prisoner, a slave to this
an American I'm an American I'm, I'm, I'm an American psycho I wish I dreamt in the shape of your mouth But it's your thread count I really care about
Tune me in to the wild side of life I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife Take me to the garretts where the artists have died Show me
and salute him when his birthday comes For Halloween, buy him a trumpet and for Christmas, buy him a gun He's got everything he needs, he's an artist
Tune me in to the wild side of life I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife Take me to the garretts where the artists have died Show me
love, was it all in vain? We always wanted money, now the money's not the same In a quiet moment at the theater, I could hear the train Deep inside
around Count one two three then put your right foot down Then you circle your lady as you swing and you sway To the Rhumba Boogie in the South American
an artist is a fragile life And it's something I have always believed The memory cuts like a knife All the good that I did was for nothing (ah) All
lady when I tell her The I do indeed love to smell her Sopping wet your pink umbrella Do the dog with Isabella I'm so in love yes with an artist
His mind is up his sleeve And his talk is make believe Oh, Lord, the man's a fraud He's a flim flam man He's an artist He's a flim flam man He's
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