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Jazz is a GypsyJazz is a gypsyroaming wild and freeand I had to followlike blue water to the seaI blew horn for a combo, down in New Orleanswhere the bell of my trumpet, gave me golden wingsthen I met a barmaid, at some Cajun saloonshe said the meek inherit the earth, but the wild get the moonso we'd lay a blanket, on the riversideand make love while a full moon, tangoed with the tidethen my band got work, playing a gambling boatshe waved goodbye on the shoreline, crying through riversmokefor jazz is a gypsythat put a spell on meand I used to wonderwould it set me freewe played for politicians, and their mannequin wivessome even tried to kiss me, bored with their museum livesand I could feel a spirit, haunting the lower deckssomehow my faithful trumpet, held me in a witch's hexbut as I kept the rhythm, of the rolling paddlewheeleven within my music, was a presence I could feelso I left near St. Louis, bid my band farewellput a raft on the river, let true love be my sailcos jazz is a gypsythat reads a crystal balland if I had a futurejazz could see it allher hair was like molasses, flowing down her backit remained as I remembered, thick and sweet and blackwhen she saw me in her tavern, her eyes seemed mystifiedI said let love be a jazz song, with passion as its guidefor jazz is a gypsythat sings a misty songso I let it take meback where I belongnow jazz is a gypsywith magic tambourinesher love tamed my trumpetdown in New Orleans(c)2004 Robert George