Non-Erotic PoetryDon't Tell Me I Can't Sing the Blues
Don't Tell Me I Can't Sing the Blues
Hey there driver, give me the screws
I shed real tears now when I cry.
Don't tell me I can't sing the blues.
I order reds; they send me blues:
blue Ferrari? I could just die.
Hey there driver, give me the screws.
French mechanic, "Merci beau coups,"
every time he sees me come by.
Don't tell me I can't sing the blues.
That mechanic hasn't a clue,
Had my Jag since first of July.
Hey there driver, give me the screws.
Then there's my BMW's
engine troubles that multiply.
Don't tell me I can't sing the blues.
My chauffeur you cannot excuse,
speaks some lingo -- think from Shanghai.
Hey there driver, give me the screws,
don't tell me I can't sing the blues.
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