The New York Debut of an L.A. Artist (Jazz Artist)

Jazz crowd -- art critics smoking,
college girls barking at college-type joes.
Jazz crowd -- walking 'round the gallery,
walking 'round the gallery:
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Is there any more red wine?
Any more red wine?”
“Where'd all the dip go?”
Jazz crowd -- sizing up the pictures,
strange cruxifixion bleeding on the walls.
It's an execution and this dog's had his day.
This exhibition's an artist from L.A.
“L.A. ARTISTS?! L.A. ARTISTS?!
Man, we eat 'em for breakfast!
We eat 'em for breakfast!
Whatta they know?”
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Where'd all the dip-
(One young lamb takes a look around and says, “Man! This is just like Dali!!!” The people with him? Well, they forgive him; “Hey, c'mon! He's from Jersey!”)
“Where'd all the dip go?”
“Where'd all the dip go?”
“Where'd all the dip go!?”
“Don't even mention Miles Davis, man!
Miles Davis SOLD OUT sellin' motor scooters,”
said a writer from the Reader.
“He looked great, though,
don't tell me he's clean -- he looks half dead!
But he blew it sellin' scooters,
blew it sellin' scooters!
What was he doing sellin' scooters?
What was he doin' sellin' scooters?
He needed the cash!
He needed the cash!
His new record's trash!
The guy can't blow!!!!”
“Where'd all the dip go?”
“Where'd all the dip go?”
“Where'd all the dip go?”