Gettysburg Address

Now there's different kinds of cats, you see now like this here cat sittin' over there; he's probably a George Washington cat, you see, he dig George makin' it over the stream with the eyes and stompin' soldier and all that. And that cat over there he's probably a Benny Franklin cat; he's probably...he's with Benny Franklin. But myself, I'm a Lincoln cat. That's me. I dug sweet ol' swingin', non-stop, heavy-headed sweet Abe; used to call him "Lanky Linc" that's what they used to call him back in them days: "Lanky Linc."

Four big hits and seven licks ago our before daddies swung forth upon this sweet, groovy land, a swingin', stompin', jumpin', blowin', wailin' new nation, hip to the cool groove of Liberty, and solid-sent with the ace lick that all the studs, chicks, cats, and kitties, red, white, or blue, is created level in front. In straight talk "the same," dig what I mean?

Now we are hung with a king-size, main-day civil drag, sounding of whether that nation, or any up-there nation, dig so hip and so solid-sent, can stay with it all the way. We's here to dig this chop beating session on the site of the worst jazz blown in the entire issue: Gettys-mother-burg. We have stomped out here to turn on a small soil stash of the before mention hassle site, as a final sweet sod-pad for those who laid it down and left it there so that this jumpin' happy beat might blow forever more. And we all dig that this is the straightest lick ever heard.

But, digging it harder from afar, we cannot take no wailin' bows -- we cannot mellow -- we cannot put down the stamp of the Nazz on this sweet sod. 'Cause the strong, non-stop studs, both digging it and dug under it, who hassled here, have mellowed it with such a wild, mad beat, that we can hear it, but we can't touch it. Now the world cats will short dig --you hear what I say? Short dig!-- the long stash in their wigs that we are beating our chops around here, but it can never successfully shed what they 'vanced here. It is for us the swingin' to pick up the dues of these fine studs who cut out here and fly through to endsville. It is hip of us to be signifyin' to the glorious gig that we can't miss with all these bulgin' eyes -- that for all these A-stamped studs we double our love kick to that righteous ride for which these cats' hearts sounded the last'inth bong of the dell of their bell -- that we here wanted struck up state for all to dig that these departed studs shall not have split in vain -- that this nation, under the great swingin' Nazz, shall whoom up a whop of endless mardi-gras -- and that the big law of you straights, by you studs, and for you kitties, shall not be scratched from the big race.

And that's why I'm a Lincoln cat.