If Ya Ain't Got It In Ya,

All Them Weird Chords Which Don't Mean A Thing...you Got No Melody To Remember, And No Beat To Dance To

I Don't Need Words. It's All In The Phrasing.

We All Do 'do, Re, Mi,' But You Have Got To Find The Other Notes Yourself.

Every Time I Close My Eyes Blowing That Trumpet Of Mine, I Look Right Into The Heart Of Good Old New Orleans. It Has Given Me Something To Live For.

Not Too Slow, Not Too Fast. Kind Of Like Half-fast.