Testi musica canzoni

Me and Quincy were going out
Puttin' across the Bay Bridge
Grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats
We'd found a six pack in the fridge
Q's drumming on the dashboard keeping the beat
I can't figure out how to turn on the heat
Rain pours in through a missing window
Wind drifts in through a drafty door
My cars so old I can see the road
When I look down -- right through the floor
My labrador's like an open umbrella
Stretched out and panting in the back
We wanna be beatniks on Valencia
He's like Neal -- I'm like Jack
I wish that I'd ridden with Kerouac
So in the tunnel we fade to black
Too cool, too cool, to care

We're on a pilgrimage to a cooler day
To worship at the shrine
Where fog rolls in and mixes gray
With rolling bass horns warning ships
And filling all the Frisco nights
With dreams of other City Lights
Going to a coffee house in North Beach
On a misty night with wet streets shining
I see taxi brakes reflected in the gutter...
I hear my solos flowing like streams of butter
I'll be painting pictures with half valve notes
Notes that melt like Dali watches
Notes that rain down in molten pools
Not a hip hop groove, no Kenny G
It's a smoky reedy breathy sound
Like Ferlinghetti or Ezra Pound
Too cool, too cool, to care

My face is a mask of free association
I'm wearing heavy black rim glasses
I've got a butt that dangles from my curling lip
And a callous from too much snapping
I got lizard eyes behind sun glasses
I'm sneaking up on hip in crepe soled shoes
Or sunning on a rocking Be bop blues
Aloof and stoic but never weird...
Q's got a little pointed beard
A half grown goatee like a clear cut forest
Sideburns and a Gap pocket T
Pocketee, pocketee
Cause we belong to those who don't belong
Rebels in shark skin suits
With an attitude and perfect hair
Yeah that's us -- too cool to care
Too cool, too cool, to care

Like a subterranean Doctor Sax
A jazzbo dharma Zen Monk riddle
I'm blowing choruses to a climax
In a basement room that smells of mold
I'm blowing double time bridges like some hyper Trane
Copping a taste for a strung out lover
Whining and romantic like Morrissey I'll suffer like a fool
Like some freeloader Freddie who makes an impression
Like some Washington Irving at the shooting gallery
Like some wild eyed child of Walt Whitman
Rimbaud the poet meets Rambo the killer
An uptight daddy, a big Kahuna
Charlie Parker meets Charlie Tuna
It's an orgy... Of simile and metaphor
In the rapids of a stream of consciousness
I'm paddlin' in the kayak of punctuation...
And all I can say is like...
Too cool, too cool, to care