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Who needs good poll numbers when you have a platinum harp that always plays your tune?
I take my Harp wherever I may roam,
From the golf course to the courthouse to my gold-plated home.
She never plays a downbeat, never hits a note that’s blue —
‘Cause baby, when you’re number one, what else is there to do?
[Spoken, smug, over vamping bass]
That’s right, folks. Everywhere. And I mean everywhere…
[Verse 2: playful, finger snaps]
Now some Harps need a first-class seat, a limo, or a plane,
But mine curls up in the back of the truck — never once complains.
No room in the SUV? She says, “Don’t fret, don’t frown —
Just pop the trunk, I’ll ride with the clubs, wherever you’re headed, I’m down.”
[Chorus: big band swell, brass punches]
‘Cause it’s me and my Harp, what a swingin’ pair,
She plays my tune in any key, in any hemisphere.
The world’s needs, well, they’re lovely — but let’s be smart:
My needs trump the world’s needs, says me and my Harp.
[Verse 3: sly, muted trumpet fills]
The pollsters say I’m sinking, ring-a-ding, what do they know?
My Harp just strums a little louder and the numbers cease to show.
She reads to me at bedtime from a scrapbook of my praise —
A fella could float forever on those sweet arpeggiated waves.
[Verse 4: swaggering, vibraphone accents]
And can you blame a man for taking what the whole world’s lined up to give?
They buy my little tokens just to breathe the air I breathe — hey, that’s how the big boys live!
A meeting here, a handshake there, the coin goes in the slot —
The music man plays pay-to-play, and brother, that’s a lot.
[Bridge: strings swell, tempo pulls back, intimate]
Now I’ve got brass, I’ve got woodwinds, I’ve got a whole gold section on call,
But my Harp — she’s platinum, baby, the most valuable of all.
Gold is for the also-rans, the second-place, the mild —
Platinum plays it prettier when the headlines turn hostile.
[Final Chorus: full band, triumphant]
So it’s me and my Harp till the last encore,
She’ll be strumming something gorgeous as they’re rushing for the door.
And when they ask who kept the maestro in the dark —
[Spoken aside, wry]
Hey, don’t look at me, pally…
[Outro: belted final line, big band hit, rim shot]
…I just danced to my Harp!
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