There is no jazz in this here sky!
No swinging moves or asking why,
no honky tonk grooves or outcry
for a somersaulting flyby.

There is no 'jiggy', funky feel
no freedom laughter or appeal
for a clearer bluer sky ideal
without this black Achilles' heel.

So here is now my one demand:
Begone with all this blinding sand,
let's fly away to bebop land,
and no more follow their command.