Turning the Tables

For Eardrum First hold the needle like a lover’s hand Lower it slowly let it tongue the record’s ear Then cultivate the sweet beats blooming in the valley of the groove Laugh at folks that make requests What chef would let the diners determine Which entrees make up the menu? Young boys think it’s about flashy flicks of the wrist But it’s about filling the floor with the manic language of dance About knowing the beat of every record like a mama knows her child’s cries Nobody cares how fast you scratch Cuz it ain’t about soothing any itch It’s about how many hairstyles are still standing At the end of the night.