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Break Down and Dance MAG
There was a period of revolution.
From the 1920s to the 1930s
where every black man had stories
every white man had one too many glories.
Mickey Mouse didn't just sit down and watch Charlie Chaplin
on his television set,
without listening to jazz.
with folk lies
tellin' stories you wouldn't believe
without seein' it with your own eyes,
explaining life with their musical manual.
Tellin' you do what you must do
always remember who to be true to
and stay on the path god tried to lay down for you
take a sidestep.
Dance off the path that's been beaten and fallen on
by everyone you come upon
push it outta the way because your roots say slave
but your harmony screams soul
and though your documentary hasn't begun
your song has just started.
Each black note has not quite become whole
representing your goal
still dreamin' of itself
and every broken melody it was
from fallin' on.
Then take your sidestep and old
and carve that path the king
put on reserve.
Take that scale of your life
then bend it.
And scribble all over it.
Because though your fingers are playin' jazz
your heart is still beatin' the blues
and countin' off your life like it's a chorus,
That's tryin' not to repeat itself.
Steppin' outta the jazz club,
named after memories of men you can't remember
but would never forget.
Cigarette in mouth.
Goin' from nobody
And landin' on the clouds
you dreamed of reaching.
Starin' down the sixteen-inch barrel.
and the man in the foggy mirror you've been drawing all over for years.
And realizing you're the only one with a finger on the trigger!
Now Stand Up.
And stop dreamin' on shootin' stars
just reach up and grab one.
your fingers around the speed of light.
Let's try to slow it down.
And hitch a ride to heaven.
Or just put your initials on it.
So next time it flies over the ocean,
steamboat willy's gonna look up and go
I know him.