| "Bourbon Street Taps" | |
| Bourbon Street Taps I saw little boys dancin Wearin daddy shoes In rhythms you wont find on any maps That old slate sidewalk Has been slowly chipped away But the sparks still fly from those Bourbon Street taps I heard the blues blow From a funeral parade All parasols and feathers in their caps That cobbled side street Is a highway paved in gold When the band kicks into Bourbon Street taps Anything for sale Turns into everything for sale But how those colors pale When no one can remember how the horn could wail Those little boys dancin Still wearin daddy shoes But now the tips go into some corporations hat Aint nothing special If everyday is Mardi Gras And the suits ran off with those Bourbon Street taps And I hear Satchmo blowin down on Bourbon Street Copyright 2004 John Korbel |
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