As with YOUR family’s history (whether you know it or not) our well-thumbed genealogy (unambiguously entitled, “A New England Family”) contains some rather compelling stories.  Take the tale of mystery and romance that surrounded my great, great grandfather.

Known to all as “the Squire,” and an esteemed citizen of Newburyport, Mass., he had an outsized personality, counting Nathaniel Hawthorne and Franklin Pierce among his personal friends. He was also exceedingly pious, attending services every day (twice on Sundays) at the Old South Presbyterian Church.  But only in recent years can it be comfortably affirmed that the Squire was born out of scandal.

In 1776 a Revolutionary War soldier named Moses Pettingell returned to Newbury (later part of Newburyport) where he joined his brother Eleazer in a “house with brick ends” that they had inherited from their father.  In good weather they fished, in winter they made shoes.  Which remained their practice in 1791, when the two men hired on a housekeeper named Sally Beckett, who had come from Exeter, NH seeking employment.

Four years later, on 6 June 1795, records indicate that Sally and Eleazer were married.  They also indicate that a son was born the following month.  The resulting gossip was only intensified when the child was given the name Moses. Never mind the timing, cryptic speculation would be whispered in family circles for generations regarding the matter of paternity.

Yet what strikes one as remarkable was the subsequent conduct of the three household elders, who came rolling out of Calvinistic 18^th Century Massachusetts to share equally in young Moses’ care and upbringing. Although they were common people, unschooled and socially unversed, a course of action was set in place.  No further children were born, the senior Moses remained unmarried and together they worked, saved and methodically prepared young Moses for a life far beyond their own experience.

As indicated by the quality of the writing found in the Squire’s diaries it’s apparent that his schooling was more extensive than the ordinary child, and that Presbyterianism was a major influence from a young age. When he was 15 in 1810, his uncle/parents built a new house that was markedly larger in size, quality and pretension than the humble brick. Conspicuously situated near the mouth of the Merrimack River, their intention was manifestly to furnish the boy with the grandest, most expensive house in the community.

Kind, generous to a fault, and with no discernible bad habits, Moses Pettingell never seemed bothered by the circumstances of his birth, becoming a bastion of his community, while ever-maintaining the instilled belief that he was marked for a special place in life… That he would turn out to be an abysmal businessman and an even worse investor is an account for another time.  Never mind his dim view of Unitarians.

Perhaps I’m wrong in thinking that such a musty old story typifies a uniquely regional sensibility. But for me it remains another reason… (like these provided by Jonathan Richman and The Modern Lovers back in 1976) …why I love New England.

LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Thursday 14 March 

…New England

See, I come from Boston

I’m gonna tell you about how I love New England

It’s my favorite place

I’ve been all around the world, but I love New England best

I might be prejudiced

But it’s true, I love New England best

Well, now…

You know, ladies and gentlemen

I’ve already been to Paris

Already been to Rome

And what did I do but miss my home?

 I have been out west to Californ’

But I miss the land where I was born

I can’t help it

 Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-da-dum-day

Oh, New England

Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-da-dum-day

Oh, New England

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

I have seen old Israel’s arid plain

It’s magnificent, but so’s Maine

Oh, New England

Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-da-dum-day

Oh, New England

Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-da-dum-day

Oh, New England

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

Doddly-doodly-do-do-doo-do-do

 Dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-da-dum-day

Oh, I love New England…

Before Michael Jackson, before the Amazing Little Stevie Wonder, there was Frankie Lymon.  And just like Jackson and Wonder, he got his professional start at the age of 13.

Born into a poor Harlem family in 1942, Franklin Joseph Lymon, was working as a grocery boy at the age of ten and, with a knowledge of the world well beyond his years, soon began to augment his income by hustling prostitutes.

While still 12 he became enthralled with a Doo-Wop group called the Premiers at a local talent contest and didn’t hesitate to introduce himself as a singer.  After participating in a jam session Lymon was invited to join the group by lead vocalist Herman Santiago, just before they changed their name to the Teenagers and landed a recording audition with a newly created record label.

Santiago and the group’s tenor, Jimmy Merchant, had completed a song for the occasion, which was inspired by some love letters that a friend had received from his girlfriend and shared with them, including the line, “Why do birds sing so gay?”

On the day of the audition Santiago had a sore throat and was unable to sing lead so the precocious Lymon happily stepped in and added his own embellishments. Released as “Why Do Fools Fall in Love” by “Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers,” the song was an instant hit in 1956, reaching Number 6 on the Billboard Charts and Number One in the UK, the first chart topping single there by an American Rock & Roll group. Other hits followed but the limelight was short lived.

Although Santiago had graciously stepped aside as lead, Frankie Lymon soon left the Teenagers to embark upon a solo career that was sadly hampered by a heroin addiction that would take his life at the age of 25.  The Teenagers, who struggled on with other lead singers, finally disbanded in 1961, leaving behind a high-voiced signature sound that at its early best proved to be hugely influential on the wave of girl-groups to follow, while serving as a veritable blueprint for many of Motown’s most successful recordings.

 LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Wednesday 13 March 

Why Do Fools Fall in Love?

Oh wah, oh wah, oh wah

Oh wah, oh wah, oh wah

Why do fools fall in love?

Why do birds sing so gay?

And lovers await the break of day?

Why do they fall in love?

Why does the rain fall from above?

Why do fools fall in love?

Why do they fall in love?

Love is a losing game

And love can be a shame

I know of a fool you see, for that fool is me

Tell me why, why, why, tell me why

Why do birds sing so gay?

And lovers await the break of day?

Why do they fall in love?

 Why does the rain fall from above?

Why do fools fall in love?

Why do they fall in love?

 Why does my heart skip a crazy beat?

Before I know it will reach defeat

Tell me why, why, why

Why do fools fall in love?

I think I understand why John Ford disliked the song and don’t believe it was a generational thing between the 68-year-old film director and Gene Pitney, the 22-year-old teen idol who had been hired to sing it.  I say it was a case of a proposed theme song that cut across the deep aesthetic grain of a rare artist who remains the only person ever to win four Best Director Oscars.

Although his major awards were won for adaptations of iconic 20^th Century novels, he is best remembered for his acute feel for the 19^th Century American frontier. In addition to customarily breathtaking cinematography and a consistently clear visual style, Ford was highly adept at incorporating a film’s musical score into the story. So much so that it sometimes took on greater importance than dialogue.

So despite the many merits of a pop song that had been commissioned by the studio for what would prove to be Ford’s last great film, in 1962, it didn’t blend well with the director’s elegaic vision.  And John Ford wasn’t one who liked to be told what to do, as one studio executive famously learned when he complained that one of Ford’s films was falling behind schedule.  The accomplished director quietly held up the script and tore out an entire scene saying, “There, now we’re all caught up!”  True to his word the scene was never filmed.

Nor was the song, “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” written by a couple of Brill Building collaborators named Burt Bacharach & Hal David, used in the now classic film, “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.” Instead, Ford opted for the “Ann Rutledge Theme” from his 1938 film,” Young Mr. Lincoln,” starring Henry Fonda.

Not that it was a tragic decision. Evocatively filmed in Black & White and starring John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart, the movie was a huge success and, peaking at Number 4 on the Billboard Charts, so was the song.  Be sure to listen for those two shots after “…shot Liberty Valance,” if you’re in any doubt about the bravest of them all.

 LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Tuesday 12 March 

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

When Liberty Valance rode to town the womenfolk would hide, they’d hide

When Liberty Valance walked around the men would step aside

‘Cause the point of a gun was the only law that Liberty understood

When it came to shootin’ straight and fast, he was mighty good

 From out of the East a stranger came, a law book in his hand, a man

The kind of a man the West would need to tame a troubled land

‘Cause the point of a gun was the only law that Liberty understood

When it came to shootin’ straight and fast, he was mighty good

Many a man would face his gun and many a man would fall

The man who shot Liberty Valance, he shot Liberty Valance

He was the bravest of them all

The love of a girl can make a man stay on when he should go, stay on

Just tryin’ to build a peaceful life where love is free to grow

But the point of a gun was the only law that Liberty understood

When the final showdown came at last, a law book was no good

Alone and afraid she prayed that he’d return that fateful night, awww that night

When nothin’ she said could keep her man from goin’ out to fight

From the moment a girl gets to be full-grown the very first thing she learns

When two men go out to face each other, only one returrrrns

 Everyone heard two shots ring out, a shot made Liberty fall

The man who shot Liberty Valance, he shot Liberty Valance

He was the bravest of them all

The man who shot Liberty Valance, he shot Liberty Valance

He was the bravest of them all

I’ve always preferred Nantucket myself, but soon after we were married Linda and I took the short ferry to Martha’s Vineyard for a delightful stay with her elderly aunt.  A fascinating woman, Auntie Mary and her husband, Uncle Clement, had purchased the oldest house in what was then known as Gay Head back in the 1930s.  Although it was rather rustic compared to the homes that have sprouted since, it commanded an incredible view of the western end of the island, jutting into Vineyard Sound.

Officially known as Aquinnah since 1997, the area is a cultural center of the Wampanoags, who represent a third of the population there. Many of them were Auntie Mary’s friends and with no children of her own she would come to leave the better part of her property to the Wampanoag Tribe when she died.

Despite incurring one of the worst sunburns of my life (as red as the lobsters we later steamed) it was meeting some of the local characters that I now remember best during that visit, including an aging historian who lived across Lighthouse Road and wrote books about ship wrecks and Indian legends.  I also remember having a gander at some of the surrounding properties, particularly those owned by the Taylors.  Down to the right there was James’ place, then Kate’s house, and although I’m not sure about Alex, just over here was younger brother Hugh’s establishment, The Outermost Inn.

Personally I’ve never been comfortable around celebrities, particularly when I’m a fan.  Really, what does one have to say?  And I found it interesting that the only one of those siblings who didn’t seem to have a residence within view was the one I was most familiar with, Livingston, whom I’d seen in concert on countless occasions. His place was farther down the road.

Born in Boston (in 1950) and raised in Chapel Hill where his father was Dean of the UNC Medical School, like his brother and sister, he endured debilitating depression as a teen, receiving his diploma from Arlington High School, which had a program especially affiliated with McLean Hospital.  As was the case with his siblings, learning to play the guitar was apparently therapeutic.

When James appeared on the cover of Time in 1971, mention was made of a possible Taylor musical dynasty and although that never came to pass it meant that Livingston was far more accessible and invariably that his concerts were a lot more fun. Anyone of a certain age who lived in Boston in the ‘70s may well remember him as a coffeehouse and college campus regular, sometimes performing with a band, sometimes solo, sometimes with his sister, Kate.

I contend that although he doesn’t quite have his brother’s phenomenal writing chops, Livingston is a better performer, whose professorship at the Berklee College of Music seems to suit him to a tee.  Still recording and still touring, we even see him perform here in the wilds of Concord on occasion.  And as long as there isn’t any uncomfortable meet-the-celebrity chitchat afterwards, they’re shows that I’m always happy to attend.

Serving as the first track on Taylor’s second album, “Liv,” released in 1971, this is a perfect song for a Monday morning.

LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Monday 11 March 

Get Up, Get Out Of Bed

 There’s a festival today

Come and see it’s all so fine

People who are not my kind are here

There’s a festival today

The world is changing fresh and new

It’s mostly green with bits of blue

 But it’s all here for you

And here’s all you have to do

 Get up, get up, get out of bed

Let the sunshine fill your head

Listen to what your friends have said

Get up, get out of bed

 Morning with a quick yawn

I’ll be gone

I’ll be hurrying on my way

I hear there’s a bad cat

On your back

 And you’d best stay in today

And tomorrow I’m here to say

 Get up, get up, get out of bed

Let the sunshine fill your head

Listen to what your friends have said

Get up, get out of bed

 Can you see me clearly?

Lover, I do not know

Can you hear me nearly?

Oh, and I do think so

Then you ain’t got far to go

 Get up, get up, get out of bed

Let the sunshine fill your head

Listen to what your friends have said

Get up, get out of bed

Recognized as the most played record by British broadcasting of the past 70 years, more than 1,000 cover versions have been recorded by other artists.  And as one might imagine it all began at a party when non-musician lyricist, Keith Reid overheard someone say to a rather inebriated woman, “you’ve turned a whiter shade of pale.”

When it’s not alluding to Chaucer’s story of courtly love in “The Miller’s Tale” the song blends Reid’s intimations of drunken seduction with vocalist and keyboardist, Gary Brooker’s Bach-inspired melody.  Organist Matthew Fisher also received belated credit and it’s interesting to note that “A Whiter Shade of Pale” doesn’t actually crib from Bach’s “Air on the G String” as much as it does Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman”.

Formed in Southend-on-Sea in 1967, Procol Harum (not Harem) got its name from a friend’s Burmese cat, which itself got the name from its owner’s poor Latin translation of “beyond these things.”  Perhaps the first group to incorporate a lyricist as a full member of the band (King Crimson later did the same), “Whiter Shade of Pale” was Procol Harum’s debut release, reaching Number One in the UK and Number Five in the US during that groovy Summer of Love.

 LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Sunday 10 March 

A Whiter Shade of Pale

 We skipped a light fandango

Turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor

I was feeling kind of seasick

But the crowd called out for more

The room was humming harder

As the ceiling flew away

When we called out for another drink

The waiter brought a tray

And so it was that later

As the miller told his tale

That her face at first just ghostly

Turned a whiter shade of pale

 She said there is no reason

And the truth is plain to see

That I wandered through my playing cards

And would not let her be

One of sixteen vestal virgins

Who were leaving for the coast

And although my eyes were open

They might just as well have been closed

And so it was later

As the miller told his tale

That her face at first just ghostly

Turned a whiter shade of pale

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They all knew one another as students at Kent State University and were decidedly affected by the events of that sad, sad day in 1970.  But while Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale  took a snarky, industrial route to form Devo (Casale was standing mere yards away from two friends when they were killed), Chrissie Hynde saved her shekels and moved to England.

Born in Akron in 1951, Hynde, who had studied art in college tried writing for a while but eventually found herself working in Malcolm McLaren’s London clothing store.  It was there that she met teenaged Sid Vicious and tried to convince him to marry her so that she could claim permanent residency.

No luck with that and after time spent in Paris and Cleveland (such a juxtaposition) Hynde managed to make her way back to London where she played for early versions of The Clash and The Damned before finally forming a group of her own in 1978.  Of course the group needed a name, especially after a series of song demos began to be passed around, and in honor of The Platters’ “The Great Pretender” Hynde dubbed it, “Pretenders.”

First released as a single in 1982, when it reached Number 17 on the UK charts and Number 5 on the American Billboard Charts, this song was originally meant to be about Hynde’s ex, Ray Davies of the Kinks, with whom she had a daughter.  But before it could be recorded the focus changed after the group’s guitarist (James Honeyman-Scott) died of a drug overdose.

Purposely reflecting Sam Cooke’s 1960 hit “Chain Gang” with its memorable chain-gang chant, “Back on the Chain Gang” would eventually find its way onto the reorganized group’s third album, “Learning to Crawl” in 1984.

 LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Friday 8 March

Back on the Chain Gang

 I found a picture of you,

Oh oh oh oh

What hijacked my world that night?

To a place in the past

We’ve been cast out of?

Oh oh oh oh

Now we’re back in the fight

We’re back on the train

Oh, back on the chain gang

 A circumstance beyond our control,

Oh oh oh oh

The phone, the TV and the news of the world

Got in the house like a pigeon from hell,

Oh oh oh oh

Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies

Put us back on the train

Oh, back on the chain gang

 The powers that be

That force us to live like we do

Bring me to my knees

When I see what they’ve done to you

But I’ll die as I stand here today

Knowing that deep in my heart

They’ll fall to ruin one day

For making us part

 I found a picture of you,

Oh oh oh oh

Those were the happiest days of my life

Like a break in the battle was your part,

Oh oh oh oh 
in the wretched life of a lonely heart

Now we’re back on the train

Oh, back on the chain gang

It was the first recording by a non-British artist on Apple Records and it was called, quite simply, James Taylor.  Beset by heroin addiction and clinical depression, the then-unknown Taylor had been signed-on by Peter Asher who, in 1968, was head of A&R (artists and repertoire) for the new label.

Once part of the English duo, Peter and Gordon, it was Asher’s incredible fortune to be the older brother of Jane, who was Paul McCartney’s girlfriend in the mid-‘60s.  As a result Peter and Gordon ended up with a number of Lennon-McCartney discards, including their biggest hit, “World Without Love”.  After the duo disbanded Asher, who read philosophy at King’s College London (shameless plug), went on to Apple Records.

Upon signing Taylor, Asher agreed to produce the album (and perform as a backup vocalist as well) and although it wasn’t a commercial success he had such faith in the young American’s potential that he moved to the States and became his manager.  Asher also produced many of Taylor’s recordings between 1970 and 1985, beginning with “Sweet Baby James”.

Produced at Trident Studio, then the most technologically advanced studio in England, “James Taylor” was recorded using session time that had been booked by the Beatles, who were then recording “The White Album.” Paul McCartney and George Harrison showed particular interest in what Taylor was doing… and Taylor, of course, was mindful of them.

So much so that he changed the name of one of the songs from the original “I Feel Fine” (also the name of the Beatle’s eighth single) to “Something in the Way She Moves.” Irony of ironies the retitled song then served as the starting point for the first (and most successful) Beatle’s track that Harrison ever wrote.  Note Taylor’s song title, and then think of the first line to Harrison’s “Something.”

McCartney and Harrison also guested on this number, which poignantly refers to Taylor’s affliction but also includes the line “with a holy host of others standing ’round me,” referring to the Beatles in the room. Mainly however, “Carolina in My Mind” refers to his increasing homesickness for the tranquil Piedmont where he spent his formative years, a sentiment that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Although born in Boston, James Taylor was raised in Chapel Hill, where his father was dean of UNC’s School of Medicine and every year the UNC graduating class sings it during commencement.  In fact, nearly a half a century after those days when he felt as if he was on “the dark side of the moon,” the song is recognized as the Tarheel State’s unofficial anthem. And no surprise, it’s a favorite of the neighboring Palmetto State too.

 LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Tuesday 5 March

Carolina in My Mind

 In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina

Can’t you see the sunshine?

Can’t you just feel the moonshine?

Ain’t it just like a friend of mine

To hit me from behind

Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

Karen she’s a silver sun

You best walk her way and watch it shine

Watch her watch the mornin’ come

A silver tear appearing now I’m cryin’ ain’t I?

I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

 There ain’t no doubt in no one’s mind

That love’s the finest thing around

Whisper something soft and kind

And hey babe the sky’s on fire, I’m dyin’ ain’t I?

I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina

Can’t you see the sunshine?

Can’t you just feel the moonshine?

Ain’t it just like a friend of mine

To hit me from behind

Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

 Dark and silent late last night

I think I might have heard the highway call

Geese in flight and dogs that bite

Signs that might be omens say I’m going, going

Gone to Carolina in my mind

Now with a holy host of others standing ’round me

Still I’m on the dark side of the moon

And it looks like it goes on like this forever

You must forgive me

If it’s up and…

In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina

Can’t you see the sunshine?

Can’t you just feel the moonshine?

And ain’t it just like a friend of mine

To hit me from behind

Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

 In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina

Can’t you see the sunshine?

Can’t you just feel the moonshine?

Ain’t it just like a friend of mine

To hit me from behind

Yes I’m goin’ to Carolina in my mind

 Better make it back home again soon

Gotta’ get back to Carolina soon

Gotta’ make it back on home again soon

Gotta’ get back to Carolina soon

Carolina yeah

Gotta’ get back home soon

Can’t hang around no more, babe

Gotta’ get back on home again….

Having just about recovered from a random case of colitis (something I’d never even heard of ’til last weekend) I was thanking heaven for intravenous therapy, sophisticated antibiotics and for the nursing profession in general when it occurred to me that despite its drawbacks we do live in an enchanted age.

2013 may not have the dash and brio of times gone by but at least our odds of remaining sentient are better. Hey, if William Henry Harrison hadn’t caught pneumonia while taking the oath of office he may have been a great president, and if Thomas Wright Waller had made it beyond the age of 40 his name would surely be as tip-of-the-tongue as that of Louis Armstrong.

Born in Harlem in 1904 to a preacher father and a church organist mother, Waller was playing piano at six and composing organ music at fourteen.  Having learned the “stride” style he turned professional at fifteen (against his father’s wishes) and between his first recording session in 1922 (on piano roll) and his last in 1943, recorded well over 600 jazz, ragtime, swing and classical “sides.”

Everything about him was legendary: his appetite for food and liquor (hence the name “Fats”); his ability to master any keyboard he saw, from pipe organ (which he called the “God box”) to celesta; his facility for fitting in to any performance role (e.g. as soloist, sideman or as the leader of a crackerjack ensemble); his otherworldly ability to lay down recordings in a single take; his comedic timing; his generosity and easygoing disposition; and especially his room-filling vivacity.  You get the feeling Fats Waller was fun to be around.

Right through the ‘20s and ‘30s the man had a lead foot for life, flinging aside racial handicaps to become one of the most popular performers of his time both at home and abroad. Certainly that was the case in 1926 when he was kidnapped after a performance in Chicago.

Forced into a darkened building with a gun at his back, he quickly discovered himself to be the guest entertainer for Al Capone’s birthday bash, already in full swing. Delighted to know that the gangsters weren’t going to kill him he played for three days, finally arriving back at his hotel in a drunken stupor with thousands of dollars of tips in his pocket.

All the while, Waller was writing songs (over 400 were copyrighted, while others were not) and adding more than a page or two to today’s book of jazz standards. “Both big in body and in mind…(he was) a bubbling bundle of joy,” recalled one collaborator.

By 1943, he was just breaking into film (alongside Lena Horne and Cab Calloway in “Stormy Weather”) when it all came to an end on the eastbound Super Chief one December night. Recovering from a bout of influenza, Fats Waller succumbed to pneumonia and died just prior to the train’s arrival in Kansas City. Word swept through the station so quickly that his dear friend Louis Armstrong, a passenger on the unboarding/boarding westbound train, heard the news then and there…and cried for hours on end.

Recorded by Fats Waller and His Rhythm in 1937, “The Joint is Jumpin’” is about a Prohibition era Rent Party. Said to have played a major role in the development of early jazz and blues music and particular to Harlem, where local musicians were at a premium, tenants would throw a party (sometimes hiring competing musicians who would take turns trying to outdo each other) and pass the hat to help pay their rents.

LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Saturday 2 March 

The Joint is Jumpin’

They have a new expression along old Harlem way

That tells you when a party is ten times more than gay

To say that things are jumpin’ leaves not a single doubt

That everything is in full swing when you hear someone shout.

Here ’tis:

The joint is jumpin’

It’s really jumpin’

Come in, cats, and check your hats

I mean this joint is jumpin’

The piano’s thumpin’

The dancers are bumpin’

This here spot is more than hot

In fact, the joint is jumpin’

Check your weapons at the door

Be sure to pay your quarter

Burn your leather on the floor

Grab anybody’s daughter

The roof is rockin’

The neighbors knockin’

We’re all bums when the wagon comes

I mean, this joint is jumpin’

Let it be! Yes!

 Burn this joint, boy! 

 Yes!

Oh, my! Yes!

Don’t you hit that chick, that’s my broad

Where’d you get that stuff at?

Why, I’ll knock you to your knees! What?

Put this cat out of here! What?

Get rid of that pistol! Get rid of that pistol!

Yeah!  Get rid of it, Yes! Yeah!

That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Ha, ha! Yes!  

Now it’s really ready! 

No, baby, not now, I can’t come over there right now

Yeah, let’s do it!

 The joint is jumpin’

It’s really jumpin’

Every Mose is on his toes

I mean this joint is jumpin’

Uh-oh! No time for talkin’

This place is walkin’, yes

Get your jug and cut the rug

I think the joint is jumpin’, Listen

Get your pig feet, bread and gin

There’s plenty in the kitchen

Who is that that just came in

Just look at the way he’s switchin’

Aw, mercy,

Don’t mind the hour, I’m in power

I’ve got bail if we go to jail

I mean this joint is jumpin’

Don’t give your right name, no, no, no, no