Voodoo Swing |
Zurück zur Album Übersicht |
Saint James Infirmary |
Lyrics: Primrose |
| I went down to Saint James Infirmary To see my baby there She was laid out on a long white table So dead, so cold, so fair When I die, please bury me In my box-back coat and my Stetson hat Put a twenty-dollar coin on my watchchain So all the boys can see I died standing pat Gimme six crap-shootin’ pallbearers I want a chorus girl to sing me a song I want a red-hot jazz band at the top of my head So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along Let her go, let her go, God bless her Whereever she may be She can search the whole wide world all over She ain’t never gonna find another sweet sugar daddy like me Folks, now that you have heard my story Hey bartender, lemme have another shot of that booze You just tell anybody that asks you I got those Saint James Infirmary blues |
54-36 |
Lyrics: Hibbert |
| 54-36 was my number Right now somebody else have that number I wouldn’t do that I ain’t going back to jail no more Give it to me one time Give it to me two times Give it to me three times You better stick ‘em up mister That’s what I heard the policeman say But I wasn’t guilty no no I ain’t a fool to hurt myself |
Monkey Man |
Lyrics: Hibbert |
| Ay ya ya – talking ‘bout the big monkey man I see no sign of you, I only heard of you, Talking ’bout the big monkey man Ay ya ya – talking ’bout the big monkey man Now I know that, now I understand You’re trying to make a monkey of me |
Every Day I Have The Blues |
Lyrics: Chatman |
| Every day, every day I have the bluies When you see me worry, it’s you I hate to lose Nobody loves me, nobody seems to care Speaking of bad luck and trouble, well you know I’ve had my share I’m going to pack my suitcase, move on down the line Cause they’re ain’t nobody worried, there ain’t nobody crying |
Guantanamera |
Lyrics: Martí (additional lyrics by Jean and Stephan) |
| Yo soy un hombre sincero De donde crece la palma Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera Standing at the bar with a Cuban cigar Me spy a pretty girl and she eye me from afar Said me come down to Cuba by way of Aruba Me go dung di beach and dive a lickle scuba Me go down oriente and check out mi gente All of mi gente like Tito Puente |
Johnny Too Bad |
Lyrics: The Slickers |
| Walking down the road with a pistol in your waist, Johnny you’re too bad Walking down the road with a ratchet in your waist, Johnny you’re too bad You’re just a robbin’ and a rootin’ and a lootin’ and a shootin’, you ’re too bad One of these days, when you hear a voice say come, where ya gonna run too One of these days, when you hear a voice say come, where ya gonna run too You run to the rock for rescue, there will be no rock, Yes you run to the rock for rescue, there will be no rock |
Diddley Daddy |
Lyrics: McDaniel |
| I got a girl, she’s oh so pretty I found right here in the windy city Tell me babe where’d you go last night Oh my pretty baby don’t you know it wasn’t right Diddley diddley dum dum dum di diddy Diddley diddley diddley daddy Tell me babe what you trying to do Don’t you know I’m just crazy ’bout you It ain’t no town and it ain’t no city It’s just a little place they call diddy wah diddy |
Ninety Miles To Cuba |
Lyrics: Stephan |
When the sun goes down on Mallory Square You’ll be sure to find a lot of people there Wearing tie-dye T-shirts and flowers in their hair Ninety miles from Cuba There’s a stench of urine and yesterday’s beer Coming out of Sloppy Joe’s bar, and I fear That Papa Hemingway would turn over in his grave If he saw the way that people now do behave Here we are, yes we are Not so far from Havana Here we are, yes we are And it’s ninety miles to Cuba On the corner of Front Street and Duval There’s a spaced-out beach boy and his sunburnt pal They’re rolling in the gutter and banging on the shutter Ninety miles from Cuba I’m tuning in to Radio Martí They’re sending the good news over the sea They’re talking ’bout the right of men to be free Ninety miles from Cuba Here we are, yes we are Not so far from Havana Here we are, yes we are And it’s ninety miles to Cuba In the early morning, before sunrise If I stand on the Navy Pier and if I close my eyes I can see Harry Morgan in his bloodstained boat That’s riddled by bullets and just barely afloat He’s coming up the channel with a crooked grin He’s leering at me and saying “Hop on in” The Conch Republic is a beautiful place But not everybody can stand the pace Here we are, yes we are Not so far from Havana Here we are, yes we are And it’s ninety miles to Cuba (Extra half verse:) Under the sea grape on Smather’s Beach Away from the tourist crowds and out of the rednecks reach There’s a bunch of refugees from Guantánamo They’re talking about the old times and why they had to go |