Bowler hat, vest and brogan shoes
Fiddling a melody and clogging out the beat
You were all by your lonesome
in the spotlight
I was the guy called out
"John, do the Golden Globe Award!"
And you grinned and said
"Man, I can't do that
That's a nasty song"
and then "Aw Hell, alright"
and you played what we wanted
and used that fiddle-bow to cock that bowler brim
to a jaunty angle
Feet propelling you across the stage
like some manic mechanism
whose operation you cheerfully observed