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Down on the Mississippi River in a knockdo* dive |
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I met a trumpet playin' character and Man alive! |
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When he began to rip, he really played it from the hip |
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And when I asked about his name, they told me, "That's 'The Lip'." |
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Yip yip yip yip |
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No one plays high notes like The Lip. |
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He's got a tone that's reminiscent of a boy named Bix |
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He plays so high that only dogs can hear him, just for kicks. |
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And when I asked him does he read |
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He says, "I'll tell you, hon, I read a little bit but not enough to hurt me none." |
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Yip yip yip yip. |
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No one plays high notes like The Lip. |
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I said The Lip. |
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She must mean Ray Anthony, huh? |
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I said The Lip. |
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No, man, she means Harry James. |
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I said The Lip. |
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You mean Louis Prima. |
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I said The Lip. |
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Noo, LIP-er-ace. |
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Yip yip yip yip |
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No one plays high notes like The Lip. |
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I never heard a trumpet player play a note so high |
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And I had to coax a lot before The Lip would tell me why |
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Then he took out a little jar that's labeled 'High-note Grease' |
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And he rubs a little every night on his mouthpiece |
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Yip yip yip yip |
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No one plays high notes like The Lip. |
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Listen here gal, are you kiddin' about all that 'high-note grease'? |
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No, man, I swear, he had ten in his valise. |
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Wha', you mean he goes to the drugstore and gets them from the medecine shelf? |
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No, some cat's told me he makes it himself. |
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Yip yip yip yip |
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Tell us the secret of The Lip. |
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Well..you take a buketful of steam |
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And a dozen rooster eggs |
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And you mix 'em up gently with a bushel full of goldfish legs |
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And ya hang 'em on a sky hook in the midnight sun |
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Mmm and then you fry them until they're done. |
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Yip yip yip yip |
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That's the secret of The Lip |
