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Heavy On The Congas
(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Heavy On The Congas

Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar

It's my kind of night.
In my kind of season.
Pleasing a teased and craved appetite.

This brings me joy.
With a thrill I employ.
Pass the half & half.
Pour just a bit of it,
In this drinking glass.

It's my cup of tea.
Sipped and yes...
It is quite tasty.
With soft and fresh croissants.
Baked.
Buttered.
And slightly flaky.

It's my kind of night.
In my kind of season,
I like.
I might not show the excitement.
Since I am delighting each bite.
How can I express 'scrumptious'?
When a rhythm thumps with a groove just right!

Heavy on the congas.
I bite croissants,
And taste.

Heavy on the congas.
I bite croissants,
And taste.

Bobba-doobah-doobah bup bup.
I bite croissants,
And taste.

Bobba-doobah-doobah bup bup.
I bite croissants,
And taste.

Bobba-doobah-doobah bup bup.
I bite croissants,
And taste.

Heavy on the congas!
I bite croissants,
And taste.
Bobba-doobah-doobah bup bup.
I bite croissants,
And taste.
Beaucoup ooo aux mais oui!

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