Gagdad Bob Got Me To Thinking About Willie Mitchell
Aw yeah. We got those hot stacks of wax. The platters that matter. Shake it, don't break it, baby; took your momma nine months to make it. These cats are in the pocket, like a rocket. Swingin', man. Break it down, now. You moldy figs find new digs. We're gone, solid gone. Percolatin'