That long-held sax note- divine
makes my soul jus drift away
 smoke, booze, horse,
Then the  girls. Sum o’them, think agen
man, the flash of the crack o’th drum
thumpity, thumpity, thump.
He jus stand there in a haze
John’s soprano sax, Miles’ trumpet
Blowin the blues. All the way To Missisip
All the way to me cryin in a ditch.
Those weary, weary blues. No shufflin shoes
No dancin close, just a ghost, followin you.
Mr Langston Hughes. The poet o’the blues.
Droning a lousy syncopated line
In my arm as I rock real slow
Blues go down low. Into you balls
Into you pussy. A low-down southern moon
Plantation lan’. Guitars tuned sweet
Every note spark jus right on this dark
Hot southern night. When we hear them play
And we stay, for…all our lives
'Cos blues make me alive.