One of a kind
Now it's jazz, the place is roaring; all beautiful girls in there, one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys; one strange chick I remember from somewhere wearing a simple skirt with pockets, her hands in there, short haircut, slouched talking to everybody; up and down the stairs they come, the bartenders and the regular band of Jack and heavenly drummer who looks up in the sky with blue eyes, with a beard. He's wailing beer caps and bottles and jamming at the cash register, and everything is going to the beat.
It's the beat generation, it's be-at, it's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world and like all time low-down, and like in ancient civilizations, the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat. And servants spinning pottery to a beat.
