Roll %s cotton field rag,
We turn it out by the parlor room,
With harlem nightlife filling every heart,
And till the break of dawn.
The parlor room winds whisper low,
As play that thing we roam,
Through glitter and glam we go,
Far from our childhood home.
Each jazzy melody shares a story,
Of partners shaking and more,
The bucket of blood holds their glory,
Now and forevermore.
Through ragtime fever we find our way,
By jazz club we stand,
Though time piano may stray,
We join heart to heart and...