Breaker Breaker Dana

It goes one, two, three, and to the four.
Everybody get your ass on the dance floor.
It goes one, two, three, and to the four.
Dippin' dollies down, you pretty babies want more?

The colors in the room we were sitting in were spectacular,
deep red hues and blue: a cafe somewhere in Mannenberg.
The jazz was so deep, you could sink right in it.
The bass-man was brilliant, and the drummer was just hittin it.
I was feeling it, I like jazz stripped and real.
I was watching a pretty woman dance in a black dress and high heels,
real. I was by myself, a fact I didn't mind,
it's been a couple weeks since I've had some alone time.
But then yo, a parasite emerged:
this giddy fucking girl who kept jumbling her words.
I was trying to hear the music but she kept yapping in my ear,
I was gonna say 'shut up' but I settled the issue with a beer.
She weren't my style- wore Ugg boots and a trucker hat,
kept saying she hated when friends of hers never called her back.
Snap. Get a clue, eh? Bug off or I'll cut your wings
like a butterfly immobilized cause the words I say will sting.
But nah, I ain't that type of person.
I think I'll settle the issue with a glass of red bourbon.
Okay so yeah, I'm feeling a bit better,
the jazz is getting louder, they're improvising all together.

It goes one, two, three, and to the four.
Everybody get your ass on the dance floor.
It goes one, two, three, and to the four.
Dippin' dollies down, you pretty babies want more?