Satirical Mlgw, Storeroom 85 Poem by Kewayne Wadley

The tone lowers in depth,
Most common in it's day to day interval.
The chord loses it's value.
Diminshing by the second.
An old blues scat skipping over and over,
the same rickety needle.
The same sections.
Would this be considered Blues.
An solo of everyone's percussion, played off tune.
played at the same time.
Particularly weak in key.
But still,
they dance to a record of loud obnoxious noise.
An irregular bebop heard by them and them alone.
A string of jazz favored by their usual rapid mouths.
An improvised dance of tongues.
One trying to out talking the other.
Boogie woogie on then.
Boogie woogie on.
This isn't Jazz, Blues, Or Bebop.
Sterotyped Oofta's jigging to the sound of crabs in a barrel.
A harmony not great.
But played everyday.
over-compensating for stupid shit.
You'd think by now the bridge has moved.
But Sadly it Still remains the same.