In a Bourbon Street bayou, smoky blue haze,
where alcohol, overshadows, caffeine.
Toes busy tapping, patrons caught in a daze
frantic rhythms, a crazy cool scene.
Hypnotic grooves, a spasmodic twitch,
haywire mind, brainwave confusion.
A lyrical tirade, "Whore, Slut, Bitch!"
jazzman playing acid trip-hop fusion.
Unchained raw emotion cruel words unkind
mental impulses, causing commotion.
When tickling the ivories, he's a true mastermind;
pulsating vibes set the crowd into motion.
He's a jazzman engaged in an eerie duet.
trapped in the volatile world of Tourettes.
Brian Bressler � 2001