I've got no rhythm. My parents feared rhythm, hated music. Tap dancing drove them underground. If you sing this particular song you must whirl, leap, dance on tables, pound walls, do somersaults.
Old Man Trouble is a separate issue. Just because you've got your gal, doesn't mean he won't bother you. He could be a neighborhood crank or a flasher.
The Army tried to teach me rhythm with endless marching and singing of ditties. Invariably I lost focus, screwed up and was taking away and beaten with a truncheon. Poetry has it. So does math and brick laying, drilling, soldering and cementing. Wall papering does not require rhythm.
During intimacy, some prefer Nina Simone or Andy Williams or Nat King Cole. I choose German oompah bands and accordion music as my back round music.
Nature has many rhythms and the music of birds. If I created a new beat no one had ever heard I would be rich. Let me dig out my bongos and get to work.
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