Lyrics:
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
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
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
I was tryin' to find my way home
But all I heard was a drone
Bouncing off a satellite
Crushin' the last lone American night
This is radio nowhere,
"Breaking news, Detroit rapper Eminem cancels
His sold-out European tour to check himself into rehab
After admitting an addiction to sleep
Then tell the Grammys to go and fuck themselves
They suck the blood from all the biggest artists like some leeches
So they nominate 'em, get 'em
.jpg/300px-Count_Basie_(1955_Kriegsmann_portrait_-_square_crop).jpg "Count Basie & His All American Rhythm Section")
Discuss these artist/Count-Basie-&-His-All-American-Rhythm-Section/artist-fans/4147 Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In