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Joni Mitchell
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The Jungle Line
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Letra actual de la canción
Rousseau walks on trumpet paths<br />Safaris to the heart of all that jazz<br />Through I bars and girders-through wires and pipes<br />The mathematic circuits of the modern nights<br />Through huts, through Harlem, through jails and gospel pews<br />Through the class on Park and the trash on Vine<br />Through Europe and the deep deep heart of Dixie blue<br />Through savage progress cuts the jungle line<br /><br />In a low-cut blouse she brings the beer<br />Rousseau paints a jungle flower behind her ear<br />Those cannibals-of shuck and jive<br />They'll eat a working girl like her alive<br />With his hard-edged eye and his steady hand<br />He paints the cellar full of ferns and orchid vines<br />And he hangs a moon above a five-piece band<br />He hangs it up above the jungle line<br /><br />The jungle line, the jungle line<br />Screaming in a ritual of sound and time<br />Floating, drifting on the air-conditioned wind<br />And drooling for a taste of something smuggled in<br />Pretty women funneled through valves and smoke<br />Coy and bitchy, wild and fine<br />And charging elephants and chanting slaving boats<br />Charging, chanting down the jungle line<br /><br />There's a poppy wreath on a soldier's tomb<br />There's a poppy snake in a dressing room<br />Poppy poison-poppy tourniquet<br />It slithers away on brass like mouthpiece spit<br />And metal skin and ivory birds<br />Go steaming up to Rousseau's vines<br />They go steaming up to Brooklyn Bridge<br />Steaming, steaming, steaming up the jungle line
Letra nueva de la canción
Rousseau walks on trumpet paths<br />Safaris to the heart of all that jazz<br />Through I bars and girders-through wires and pipes<br />The mathematic circuits of the modern nights<br />Through huts, through Harlem, through jails and gospel pews<br />Through the class on Park and the trash on Vine<br />Through Europe and the deep deep heart of Dixie blue<br />Through savage progress cuts the jungle line<br /><br />In a low-cut blouse she brings the beer<br />Rousseau paints a jungle flower behind her ear<br />Those cannibals-of shuck and jive<br />They'll eat a working girl like her alive<br />With his hard-edged eye and his steady hand<br />He paints the cellar full of ferns and orchid vines<br />And he hangs a moon above a five-piece band<br />He hangs it up above the jungle line<br /><br />The jungle line, the jungle line<br />Screaming in a ritual of sound and time<br />Floating, drifting on the air-conditioned wind<br />And drooling for a taste of something smuggled in<br />Pretty women funneled through valves and smoke<br />Coy and bitchy, wild and fine<br />And charging elephants and chanting slaving boats<br />Charging, chanting down the jungle line<br /><br />There's a poppy wreath on a soldier's tomb<br />There's a poppy snake in a dressing room<br />Poppy poison-poppy tourniquet<br />It slithers away on brass like mouthpiece spit<br />And metal skin and ivory birds<br />Go steaming up to Rousseau's vines<br />They go steaming up to Brooklyn Bridge<br />Steaming, steaming, steaming up the jungle line
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