Just dig that scenery floating by,
|
We're now approaching Newport, Rhode I.
|
We've been, for years, In Variety,
|
But, Cholly Knickerbocker, now we're going to be
|
|
In High, High So-
|
High So-ci-,
|
High So-ci-ety.
|
|
I wanna play for my former pal-
|
He runs the local jazz festival.
|
His name is Dexter and he's good news,
|
But sumping kind of tells me that he's nursing the blues
|
|
In High, High So-,
|
High So-ci-,
|
High So-ci-ety.
|
|
He's got the blues 'cause his wife, alas,
|
Thought writing songs was beneath his class,
|
But writing songs he'd not stop, of course,
|
And so she flew to Vegas for a quickie divorce
|
|
In High, High So-,
|
High So-ci-,
|
High So-ci-ety.
|
|
To make him sadder, his former wife
|
begins tomorrow a brand-new life.
|
She started lately a new affair
|
And now the silly chick is gonna marry a square
|
|
In High So-,
|
High So-ci-,
|
High So-ci-ety.
|
|
But, Brother Dexter, just trust your Satch,
|
To stop that wedding and kill that match.
|
I'll toot my trumpet to start the fun,
|
And play in such a way that she'll come back to you, son,
|
|
In High, High So-
|
High So-ci-,
|
High So-ci-ety.
|
|
-----------------
|
High Society Rag
|
| Louis Armstrong |
