Sam Cooper, Jerricat Music (SESAC), Red Heart Records, Jericat Group LLC
SEX POTS (featuring Chris Gantry)

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
Short Song Description:
Here's an ode to seniors being exhibitionists!
Story Behind the Song:
Inspired by being sexually active seniors.
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
Music and words by Chris Gantry, and Sam Cooper © 2009 615-469-4067

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.

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.