Al Bowlly — Mama I Wanna Make Rhythm

Yasha was a prodigy, since he was a kid of three He could play a rhapsody as good as they come But as strange as it may be, Yasha hated melody He had a yen for tympany, he longed to play a drum When his mother made him practice on the fiddle every day He'd stop right in the middle and he’d say Oh Mama, I wanna make rhythm Don't wanna make music Just wanna go Da-de-ah-de-ah-de-ah De-ah-da-da-da-dee-dee-dee Oh Mama I wanna get hotcha I wanna make boom-ba I want to go Da-ha-doo-dee-dee-do-da-ha Hoo-da-due-dee-dee-hoo-dee Hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-dee-hee-da-da-da I've got no desire to carry a Stradivarius But there’s no limit of primitive tom-tom in my tum-tum Oh Mama! I wanna make rhythm Don't wanna make music Just wanna go Da-la-due-lee-dee Tu-da-deh-dee-due-da-ha Tu-dee-kee-dee-kee-dee-hahd-ha