Toe tapping tantilization on the pitched pine floor,
spinning with that slide of swing that your mother
talked about with friends after school.
Twist that white poodle skirt like it just won't quit baby.
Pressing the pace further to a race like status,
bringing boogie back the downtown Motown way.
Half hiding in the shadows snapping to the beat,
Don't bump the box sugar my songs about to blow.
The horns are blazing sweet baratones on that
fourty-five sweetie so come on and shake.
© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved
