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’
How did I miss that Robert Sherman passed away last week? Some nasty lamprey-faced skank sticks her leg out at the Oscars and it’s stop the presses, while a guy that helped put more butts in the seats than almost anyone you could name slips on by.
Not Broadway. Not even Hollywood and Vine. It was the circus.
The melding of Rudyard Kipling and Louis Prima. If you said it could be done I’d have called you a liar.
The Sherman Brothers
I don’t own any luxury goods. But I know the difference between vinyl siding and clapboards at 500 yards.
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