Strut %s harlem dance,
We turn it out by the piano bench,
With sweet southern charm filling every heart,
And when the band quits playing.
The piano bench winds whisper low,
As ring them bells we roam,
Through glitter and glam we go,
Far from our childhood home.
Each frisco rag shares a story,
Of sweet southern charm and more,
The red beans bar holds their glory,
Now and forevermore.
Through fever rising we find our way,
By saloons on the row we stand,
Though syncopated beat may stray,
We join...