Lost in the sweet rock and roll,
I hear the wailers shout;
Jerry Lee and Elvis, Little Richard,
what the music was about.
Living life up to the hilt,
the pounding of the piano;
like a fighter in the ring,
like Rocky Marciano.
Their opponent was the square,
today theyre called a nerd;
but it was rhythm and it was blues,
that through the void we heard.
Chuck Berry's song were gutty,
the lyrics interwoven;
he told Tchaikovsky the news,
and rolled on over Beethoven!
And Fats just walked us home,
past old Blueberry Hill;
said it was a shame,
I can them singing, still.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Lost in the sweet rock and roll,
I hear the wailers shout;
Jerry Lee and Elvis, Little Richard,
what the music was about.
Living life up to the hilt,
the pounding of the piano;
like a fighter in the ring,
like Rocky Marciano.
Their opponent was the square,
today theyre called a nerd;
but it was rhythm and it was blues,
that through the void we heard.
Chuck Berry's song were gutty,
the lyrics interwoven;
he told Tchaikovsky the news,
and rolled on over Beethoven!
And Fats just walked us home,
past old Blueberry Hill;
said it was a shame,
I can them singing, still.
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