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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Keely Smith
Vocals
Louis Prima
Vocals
Allan Seltzer
Guitar
Amado Rodriguez
Bass
Amato Rodriguez
Bass
Antony 'Tony' Liuzza
Bass
Bob Roberts
Guitar
Bobby Morris
Drums
Harvey Lang
Drums
Jack Marshall
Guitar
James Vincent
Drums
Jimmy 'Little Red' Blount
Trombone
John Nagy
Piano
Lou Sineaux
Trombone
Morgan Thomas
Trumpet
Paul Ferrara
Drums
Rolly Dee
Bass
Sam Butera
Tenor Saxophone
Willie McCumber
Piano
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Vic Knight
Songwriter
T.E. Klages
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Bob Furmanek
Compilation Producer
Voyle Gilmore
Producer
Bob Norberg
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
Down on the Mississippi River in a knockdo* dive
I met a trumpet playin' character and Man alive!
When he began to rip, he really played it from the hip
And when I asked about his name, they told me, "That's 'The Lip'."
Yip yip yip yip
No one plays high notes like The Lip.
He's got a tone that's reminiscent of a boy named Bix
He plays so high that only dogs can hear him, just for kicks.
And when I asked him does he read
He says, "I'll tell you, hon, I read a little bit but not enough to hurt me none."
Yip yip yip yip.
No one plays high notes like The Lip.
I said The Lip.
She must mean Ray Anthony, huh?
I said The Lip.
No, man, she means Harry James.
I said The Lip.
You mean Louis Prima.
I said The Lip.
Noo, LIP-er-ace.
Yip yip yip yip
No one plays high notes like The Lip.
I never heard a trumpet player play a note so high
And I had to coax a lot before The Lip would tell me why
Then he took out a little jar that's labeled 'High-note Grease'
And he rubs a little every night on his mouthpiece
Yip yip yip yip
No one plays high notes like The Lip.
Listen here gal, are you kiddin' about all that 'high-note grease'?
No, man, I swear, he had ten in his valise.
Wha', you mean he goes to the drugstore and gets them from the medecine shelf?
No, some cat's told me he makes it himself.
Yip yip yip yip
Tell us the secret of The Lip.
Well.you take a buketful of steam
And a dozen rooster eggs
And you mix 'em up gently with a bushel full of goldfish legs
And ya hang 'em on a sky hook in the midnight sun
Mmm and then you fry them until they're done.
Yip yip yip yip
That's the secret of The Lip
Writer(s): Vick, Sr. Knight, Raymond Klages
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