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The Legend of Jazz Soup Man, listen close/
 This cat, He’s got the chops, deep, digging, negotiating chord changes, blowing you away with hip to the bone genre bending melodies, Improvising on his tenor horn/he was born to play jazz/
 he's got a ghetto heart with voodoo upbrings that resonate with the soul of the city/
 Leaning on the giants, the bebop greats, Kenny Clarke’s, Charlie Christian’s, Bud Powell’s keys, Bird and Diz/
  He was a jazz monster, A force on the bandstand, no fake books, Just pure, Unfiltered, altered states of consciousness, on a single note/
 sculpting sound, creating worlds, that you could see and hear as he played/
 It was either free jazz, or Bebop deluxe, and oh, how he blew the jazz masters away, At the jazz junction, A hidden gem down on High Top Way/
 where the smoke curled like dreams, where the jazz vibe came alive, and women drank distilled whiskey/
 What was his name? In whispered respected  tones, they called him, Jazz Soup, A blend of rhythm jazz bebop and soul, a symphony of spontaneity/
 Living and breathing jazz, man, He was the bebop jazz hipster of the night, with every note he blew, it was a swinging serenade to a jazz feelin'/
  at that moment, we all dug deep and  understood/
 Jazz isn’t just music, It’s a way of life, a celebration, a story, And his name? forever etched on graffiti walls in the city by the bay/
Jazz Soup, the legend, the man who turned bebop into a world sound/

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