I'm A Spade, You're An Ofay. Let's

Even If I Have Two Three Days Off, You Still Have To Blow That Horn. You Have To Keep Up Those Chops... I Have To Warm Up Everyday For At Least An Hour.

As A Youngster In The Little Orphanage Home In New Orleans, I Was The Bugler Of The Institution. When I Got To Be Around 13 Or 14 Years Old, They Took Me Off The Bugle And Put Me In The Little Brass Band.

The Memory Of Things Gone Is Important To A Jazz Musician. Things Like Old Folks Singing In The Moonlight In The Back Yard On A Hot Night Or Something Said Long Ago.

The Best I Can Do Is Stay Happy.

Every Time I Close My Eyes Blowing That Trumpet Of Mine, I Look Right Into The Heart Of Good Old New Orleans. It Has Given Me Something To Live For.