Danny’s All Star Joint seems to be anything but, as it appears to be the hangout for various grifters, ex-cons, down on their luck musicians and other assorted riff-raff. The song feels like it might be semi-autobiographical, from the period in Jones’ life before she found fame. Still, the main thing–as always–is that it’s just a cool song. Jones’ vocals really make the song shine, as do the backing band, and it’s a cool synthesis that makes you want to tap your toes and snap your fingers.
And of course, the lyrics:
Downstairs at Danny’s All-Star Joint
They got a juke box that goes doyt-doyt
The vice is nice, they stay in the back all day,
But when the nighttime comes, hey-hey,
There’s this cat down there that makes a bad kinda soup,
I come around struttin’ my luck in my shoop coupe.
Cecil gives me coffee
And he won’t never take my coin
I say, “I got thirty dollars in my pocket!
Whatchoo doin’?”
I holler, “Come on, Cecil, take a dollar!
Come on, Cecil, take a ten!
I’ve finally geared up into a whole buncha big ones,
And you’re actin’ like I’m down-shiftin’ ”
He knows all the under-riders on the boulevard,
They got to barefoot cruise when it’s forty-weight hard
They look particularly dead-beat,
Permanently pale,
Cecil picks up his butcher knife Waves it at the jail
The kid say, “I ain’t got no dough, Joe,
I just want some o.j.”
I said, “Don’t look at me” (’cause he waslookin’ my way)
Cecil wink upon him some juice and some green
And the kid walks over and puts the
quarter in the pin-ball machine
And he says, “Come on, Cec, gimme a dollar,
Come on, Cecil, gimme five,
I’m in a half-way house on a one-way street,
And I’m a quarter past left alive”
He can talk about your people in a wonderful way
He can talk about your people till your hair turns grey
Your sister’s into mustard
She loves to walk the pup
She likes the pickle and the relish
She never gets enough
A Hershey milkshake
Steamin’ on a stick
For a Carte Blanche sandwich
Oh, lettuce, get thick…
It’s not because I’m dirty,
It’s not because I’m clean,
It’s not because I kiss the boys behind the magazine
Hey, boys? How ’bout a fight?
’Cause here comes Rickie with the girdle on tight
And if she don’t know your name
She knows what you got
From your matzo balls
To the chicken-in-the-pot
Chicken-in-the-pot
Chicken-in-the-pot…
Downstairs at Danny’s All-Star Joint
They got a juke box that goes doyt-doyt
A finger-snappin’ deluxe
Make your be-bop bap
And your R&B hep-scat
You can’t break the rules until you know how to play the game,
But if you just want to have a little fun You can mention my name
Keep your feet in the street, Your toes in the lawn,
But keep your business in your pocket,
That’s where it belongs
Come on, Cecil, take a dollar
Come on, Cecil, take a tip:
Do yourself a favor
If she offers it—take it!
But honey, don’t give it away if he don’t appreciate it
