BY COOKIE LEBARD Thursday, February 20, 2014 10:31:22 AM
I’m admittedly biased as I’ve marveled all my life at this rhythmic bunch,
Being one of their number with chest swelled proud, is a probable hunch.
Every function availed to have a reason to twist, turn, shake and gyrate,
One basic ingredient the response to the drum that makes a body quake.
Whether a tribal confrontation a festivity I must admit practically anything,
The birth of a child, rain, awakening of the sun will prompt a need to sing.
Arriving to the coasts of a foreign country against their wills, they rowed,
And if any hesitation was detected the beat intensified if the ship slowed.
The beats of the heart joined the steady boom, the melody of the drummer,
Speed magnified much like a cup of Cuban coffee offers no need to slumber.
The British and the American armies became inclined to march to a beat,
The youth fashioned a drum and bugle corps that became somewhat elite.
Chaka Zulu improvised new methods to slaughter and raise testosterone,
And the brave outmanned army of Sparta banged shields to sound not alone.
All the members of the orchestra make sweet music but when require glue,
Find someone like Gene Krupa or even Sheila E. any of that category will do.
They might apply the brush, congas, base just something to carry the beat,
And before you know it, no recourse save getting your body out of the seat.
Even when searching for the King of Beasts on the plains of desert Africa,
You can hear the drum helping to scour the area for man eaters as a lure.