My Jazz is stored deep in my heart
my dance is of no category
and should the band fall far apart
feet keep rhythm with scat and glory.

To sit dead in a room of taps
seems hardly short of heinous crimes
for dancing floors aren't made of traps
n' boppin' feet just want a good time.

Stand up and move - don't be afraid.
If your soul is hopping, you should too.
Heart-songs through movement will be played.
No better cure for a feeling blue.

So come on then let's kick our shoes
n' to the poppin' band let's pay our dues.
Fools - maybe - the sitt'n left jealous -
'through ears 'll pass jeers they may tell us.

'cuz

A cursed crow will still sing the same.
A coyote's voice will never change.
By living true they earn their fame.
We should too despite tags of strange.

And life is movement so let's live.
We get plenty time to be dead stiff.
n' You're still breathin' so come let's give
these folks a reason to wonder if:

Their static sitting is a shame?
Their pinkies up should be twirlin' hands?
'They sit all night then who's to blame?
Soon the hourglass will lose it's sand.

So if you've got a beating heart,
then you've got a drum and you can dance.
And let your rhythm guide your art.
Prove you're alive, and take the chance.