Jazz Oasis

Drums they sound like machine gun fire,
Rapid fire popping then a cymbal crashes.
Teasing the ears might a french horn blow.

Notes so hip, so crisp, jazz without a doubt,
Makes feet tap and hips shimmy all about
In a chair, on the floor with dim low lights.

Above candles on a white clothed table top,
Wet in spots while toes curls even tighter.
From the beat, or the heat even a dream.

Like the dapper gent in the gray pin strip suit,
Smoking his cigarette from a gold thin holder.
Perhaps its the girl showing more then shoulders.

Creating havoc for she has more to shake and roll.
But the beat goes on while a mellow saxophone
Seduces the senses and hypnotizes a passer by.

Bass lines walk the slender neck of a Fender guitar
As Les Paul swoons with the aid of pick, hitting
Every single note as applause come then goes again.

Then the dapper guy leaves and two fools who drools
See's the girl in white stumble, regroups then shakes ass.
Another night at the Jazz Oasis ends much too soon.