PLAY IT AGAIN SAM I AM THE LIFE OF THE TRUMPETS
IN YOUR ARMS WITH COCKTAILS OF LIKEWISE
AND IN A MOMENT OF THE BANGING OF THE DRUMS
THE SMILES THE SINGING AND THE DRINKING OF
RUMS WITH A TASTE OF THE PALACEOF FOLLIES
OF BEING IN A DICK VAN DYKE FILM AS ANNIE
GET YOUR GUNS PLAYS OUT OF THE THEATRE IN
HEARTS FILM WORLD OF LYRICS AND THE DANCE
THE FRED ASTIRE OR GINGER ROGERS AS WE
COAST THE HIPPODROME AND THE MESSERS IN THE
EVENING BREEZE TENDERLY FILLS MY SOUL
AS THE TAIL OF MY DRESS PASS BY THE GENTS
WHEN THE ELEGANCE OF ZIEGFELD COVER THE LAND
OF DREAMS OF HATES AND BOTTOMS SHIMMERING OUR
SONG THE SONG OF LOVE IN THE VIOLINS AS THE
AUTHUMN RAIN FALLS ASLEEP TO THE SOUND OF OUR
HEARTS IN ONE BEAT PLAYED THROUGH THE SENSUAL
TROMBONE OF STRAIGHTEN UP AND FLY RIGHT RIGHT
BACK INTO THE SOUL OF THE MUSIC THAT TAKES US
ALL RIGHT BACK TO PLAY IT AGAIN SAM
WRITTEN BY MRS. YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 5-11-2004
2610 PROVIDENCE STREET FORT MYERS FLORIDA
DEDECADED TO THE LOVERS OF MUSIC LYRICS AND DANCE
THE FILM HUMPHEY BOGART I ADORED THAT PIANO MAN
When I was a Lad
by Bob Moore
I still remember, when I was a lad
the head of the house, was the one we called dad
he’d go off to work, and mam would keep house
look after the kids, be quiet as a mouse
He’d come home when shift ended, and sit in his chair
wasn’t much said, cuppa tea waiting there
mam did all the washing, the cleaning and such
no TV, no internet, not very much
Sometimes, if she had to, a part time job she’d get
selling tickets at Belle Vue, or maybe the Met
or at the Apollo, in Ardwick Green
the Hippodrome too, some stars there, she’d seen
or the Midland Hotel, up on Hyde road
to make a quid, and pay what we owed
us kids didn’t know this, we all just played
and if mam and dad worked, at the neighbours we stayed
we knew all the neighbours, and we would just roam
until the street lights came on, then we’d go home
mam would be waiting, or sometimes it was dad
I remember those times, when I was a lad.
Atlantic City has many a stately pleasure dome.
Will your money go to the tables or the machines?
Either way, there will be losing scenes.
It seems like your money has no home.
Down to Atlantic City you will always go.
You place frivolous bets in the casino.
Your money dissipates just like the sea foam.
With every seven out or dealer’s twenty-one,
your money just goes. That isn’t fun.
You will never win a race in that hippodrome.
You lose your money, and you lose it fast.
Good luck is a fickle thing. It will not last.
To the nearby pawn shop you frequently roam.
You constantly put up your things for a loan.
They have just about everything you own.
Atlantic City has many a stately pleasure dome.
It seems like your money has no home.
Your money dissipates just like the sea foam.
You will never win a race in that hippodrome.
To the nearby pawn shop you frequently roam.
Disguised as a horse,
Walked the rim of the track
Stepping onto the hippodrome
There was no turning back
Zeus, piqued by this folly
Turned proud steed into donkey
At the wire annoyed spectators
Might think him an ass?
She bit the inside of her cheek
She would not cry
there would be no weakness
in her expression
Her breath slowed
She possessed a scary calmness
that no one could understand
No one would ever understand
Each word spoken was slow
and deliberate
Each beat of her heart made sense
Fear had no attachment to her
No bond on her soul
She looked upon the gallery
they seemed as fans of the recent act
any excuse to gather to compare
Their discussions too animated
nods of their heads too quick
It sickened her
She went home
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