It was a real drug midnight
swoooooooooooooooah dreary
I was goofing
Beat and weary
Over many a freakish volume of forgotten score
When suddenly there came a tapping
As if some cat were gently riffing
Knocking rhythm at my pad’s door.
Ah, “’tis the landlady,” I muttered
On her broom she flies the rounding
Sounding for her rent
WITCH only this and nothing more
Ehh, ooh, will I ever get out of this feeling?
Emmm, emmmm,
Ah, so solid I remember,
It was in that wrought December
And it’s swingin’, jumpin’ ember
Blew it’s phantom upon the floor
Groovily I woo’d the morrow
Still hung I sought to borrow
From my book kicks
To knock the sorrow
Sorrow for my gone Lenore
For that sweet, square but swingin’ maiden
Whom the fly chicks tagged Lenore
Nameless here forevermore
Lord Buckley’s “The Bugbird” (“The Raven”).
Buy the album: “A Most Immaculately Hip Aristocrat.