The Jungle Line

If you listen with the headphones, you can hear this
chord being played starting around minute 00:03:

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1st verse:

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Rousseau walks on


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trumpet            paths


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Safaris to the heart of  


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all              that         


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jazz


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Through I-bars and girders


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Through wires and pipes,


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The mathematic circuits of the 


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modern                        


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nights


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Through huts, through Harlem


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through jails and gospel pews,


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Through the class on Park


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and the trash on Vine,


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through Europe and the deep, deep heart of


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Dixie Blue


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Through savage progress cuts the


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jungle 


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line


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additional verses:

In a low-cut blouse she brings the beer
Rousseau paints a jungle flower behind her ear
Those cannibals of shuck and jive
They'll eat a working girl like her alive
With his hard-edged eye and his steady hand
He paints the cellar full of fern and orchid vines
And he hangs a moon above a five-piece band
He hangs it up above the jungle line.

The jungle line, the jungle line
Burning in a ritual of sound and time
Floating, drifting on the air-conditioned wind
Drooling for a taste of something smuggled in
Pretty women funneled through valves and smoke
Coy and bitchy, wild and fine
And charging elephants and chanting slaving boats
Charging, chanting down the jungle line.

There's a poppy wreath on a soldier's tomb
There's a poppy snake in a dressing room
Poppy poison - poppy tourniquet
It slithers away on brass like mouthpiece spit
And metal skin and ivory birds
Go steaming up to Rousseau's vines
Go steaming up to Brooklyn Bridge
Go steaming steaming up the jungle line

© 1975 Crazy Crow Music