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| Lyric Credits: |
Sam Cooper, Chris Gantry |
| Music Credits: |
Sam Cooper, Chris Gantry |
| Producer Credits: |
Sam Cooper |
| Publisher Credits: |
Jerricat Music, Chris Gantry/Studio 33 Music |
| Performance Credits: |
Chris Gantry (vocal), Sam Cooper (instruments) |
| Label Credits: |
Red Heart Records |
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Short Song Description:
Here's an ode to seniors being exhibitionists!
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Story Behind the Song:
Inspired by being sexually active seniors.
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| Song Length |
3:16 |
| Primary Genre |
Unique-Comedy |
| Tempo / Feel |
Unique-Avant garde |
| Tempo / Feel |
Slow (71 - 90) |
| Lead Vocal |
Male Vocal |
| Subject Matter 1 |
Attracted, Crush |
| Subject Matter 2 |
Madly In Love |
| Mood 1 |
In High Spirits |
| Mood 2 |
Jovial |
| Similar Artist 1 |
Louis Armstrong |
| Similar Artist 2 |
Louis Prima |
| Language |
English |
| Era |
2000 and later |
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SEX POTS
Music and words by Chris Gantry, and Sam Cooper © 2009
chrisgantry@yahoo.com 615-469-4067 jericat@yahoo.com
I was your Bowery Boy, you were my Staten Island,
We couldn't keep our hands to ourselves.
We first made fireworks on one Fourth of July,
From then on, we were like two horny little elves.
Any table we could climb under, under doorway we could duck in,
Manhattan was our playground for love.
We were passionate rabbits, you were my Costello, I was your Abbott,
Two young sex pots, that was us.
One steamy Gotham day, you started off in sexy lingerie,
And then you put on that little Catholic-girl skirt,
Then up on the fire escape to the roof, we performed our unholy goof,
We had the peepsters in the scrapers on red alert.
In the torch of the lady, in a box at the Met, in back of a mid-town bus,
Oh, Baby, no place was off limits, if we were there, we were in it,
Two young sex pots, that was us.
(bridge)
Once we got thrown out of Patsy's,
For being naughty acrobatsies,
So we went outside and did it in the snow.
Or that time we got arrested,
We went to court to contest it,
The judge got so hot and bothered, he let us go.
Now we get our senior discounts if we go to the movies,
And we still sit in the back row and miss the show,
Then go back to our brownstone palace,
And role-play "Debbie Does Dallas",
To be honest, it's the only thing we know.
It's the path of our existence,
I'm the drive shaft, you're the pistons,
A well-oiled machine that never rusts.
Oh, Baby, we still got the jones, in public or alone,
The grey hair is deceptive, we're too old for contraceptives,
Ha, we're just two old sex pots in lust--Baby, that's us.
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