It was a hubba, hubba, ding dang, baby you are just everythang.

Well, it's either kiss me or kill me, that's how I see it.

There's a place on my arm where I've written her name next to mine.

It's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace, and a wound that will never heal. No prima donna, the perfume is on an old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey. Goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers and goodnight, Matilda, too.

Folks who work here are professors. Don't replace all the knowers with guessors keep'em open they're the ears of the town

Songs really are like a form of time travel because they really have moved forward in a bubble. Everyone who's connected with it, the studio's gone, the musicians are gone, and the only thing that's left is this recording which was only about a three-minute period maybe 70 years ago.

The Music was like Electric Sugar