It's a Nineteen-Twenties Song
It’s a Nineteen-Twenties tune—forgive me, I was born too soon,
Going to fake it anyway, and bring back yesterday.
Inka-dinka-do, that old soft shoe—and I danced with Georgia Brown.
Muskrat rag—“can you spare me a ***?”—
And the stock market came dow-w-w-w-w-w-n!
It’s A Nineteen-Twenties song, the decade didn’t last too long,
Nineteen-Thirties knocked it flat, like a Babe Ruth baseball bat.
Black-face minstrel on a white man’s stage,
Girl smoking cigarettes, it’s all the rage—
And New York made that music move.
Bath-tub gin in your coffee cup—
Home-town girl acting so grown up—
Those East Coast boys, her Mama won’t approve!
Scott Fitzgerald and his wayward wife,
She danced on the tables while he drank up his life—
And only Billy Sunday told the truth:
They corrupted the nation’s youth!
It’s a Nineteen-Twenties dance—
If you missed it once, here’s another chance.
Charleston, if you can—
Honey, swing that man.
It’s a Nineteen-Twenties beat,
Hotel ball-room, move your feet.
Flapper with the short, short hair—
Young folks, I declare!
Sweet, sweet Sue making eyes at you—
And a gangster named Capone.
Razz-a-ma-tazz, and that Dixie jazz—
And that famous slide trombone…
It’s a Nineteen-Twenties dream---
Make that sweet nostalgia gleam,
Press your ear to the radio—
Will Rogers says “Hello!”
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