Bobs Too Cool To Care Lyrics

Too Cool To Care Lyrics

Me and Quincy were going out

Puttin' across the Bay Bridge

Grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats

We'd found a six pack in the fridge

Q's drumming on the dashboard keeping the beat

I can't figure out how to turn on the heat

Rain pours in through a missing window

Wind drifts in through a drafty door

My cars so old I can see the road

When I look down -- right through the floor

My labrador's like an open umbrella

Stretched out and panting in the back

We wanna be beatniks on Valencia

He's like Neal -- I'm like Jack

I wish that I'd ridden with Kerouac

So in the tunnel we fade to black

Too cool, too cool, to care



We're on a pilgrimage to a cooler day

To worship at the shrine

Where fog rolls in and mixes gray

With rolling bass horns warning ships

And filling all the Frisco nights

With dreams of other City Lights

Going to a coffee house in North Beach

On a misty night with wet streets shining

I see taxi brakes reflected in the gutter...

I hear my solos flowing like streams of butter

I'll be painting pictures with half valve notes

Notes that melt like Dali watches

Notes that rain down in molten pools

Not a hip hop groove, no Kenny G

It's a smoky reedy breathy sound

Like Ferlinghetti or Ezra Pound

Too cool, too cool, to care



My face is a mask of free association

I'm wearing heavy black rim glasses

I've got a butt that dangles from my curling lip

And a callous from too much snapping

I got lizard eyes behind sun glasses

I'm sneaking up on hip in crepe soled shoes

Or sunning on a rocking Be bop blues

Aloof and stoic but never weird...

Q's got a little pointed beard

A half grown goatee like a clear cut forest

Sideburns and a Gap pocket T

Pocketee, pocketee

Cause we belong to those who don't belong

Rebels in shark skin suits

With an attitude and perfect hair

Yeah that's us -- too cool to care

Too cool, too cool, to care



Like a subterranean Doctor Sax

A jazzbo dharma Zen Monk riddle

I'm blowing choruses to a climax

In a basement room that smells of mold

I'm blowing double time bridges like some hyper Trane

Copping a taste for a strung out lover

Whining and romantic like Morrissey I'll suffer like a fool

Like some freeloader Freddie who makes an impression

Like some Washington Irving at the shooting gallery

Like some wild eyed child of Walt Whitman

Rimbaud the poet meets Rambo the killer

An uptight daddy, a big Kahuna

Charlie Parker meets Charlie Tuna

It's an orgy... Of simile and metaphor

In the rapids of a stream of consciousness

I'm paddlin' in the kayak of punctuation...

And all I can say is like...

Too cool, too cool, to care