Rachel Bloom - Jazz Fever | Текст песни

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• Rachel Bloom
• Jazz Fever

Eleven P-M. My typical day.
Cab ride to a club to hear
some sweet jazz music play.
Pick out a musician. Buy him a gin.
Then I take him home
for a delicious night of sin.

Now I got a sore down in my drawer.
I'm nauseous and I'm feelin' kinda hot.
Woof!
A sore throat that lingers
and rashes on my fingers.
My mother once warned me
of this illness I got.

I got jazz fever.
It's the fever that you get
from too much jazz.
Jazz fever.
It's the fever that you get
from too much jazz.

I go to the doctor.
Say how bad I feel.
He looks me up and down
and says jazz fever isn't real.
You have syphilis.
Uh. Guess they don't teach jazz
in medical school.
He tells me take this medicine.
But, I ain't a fool.
Instead I take more ja-ya-ya-ya-yaz.
The only cure for jazz fever
is more jazz. Charleston!

Jazz fever.
Buzz off penicillin. Inject me with jazz!
Now I've gone deaf. From the trumpets!
Can't feel my feet. From the dancing!
Havin' seizures
and my back skin looks like raw meat.
Can't explain that!

The doctor keeps calling.
But I've sealed my fate.
'Cause jazz has an 80 percent mortality rate!

Jazz fever
is the fever that you get
from too much jazz.
Charleston.
Jazz fever.
Is the fever that you get from.
Too much jazz.

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