He isn’t hep to jive, he’s only half alive   Hep cats call him square   You won’t believe this jack   All his clothes date back   To ’29 I swear      He wears a blue serge suit with a belt in the back   No drape, no shape, just a belt in the back   Strictly calm and he’s off the cob   Wears a pocket watch with a pearly fob   He’d be just as sharp in a sack   As in the blue serge suit with the belt in the back      He isn’t old and grey but he’s so passé   Swing bands make him frown   He don’t get no kicks   From boogie-woogie licks   Oh he’s dead but he won’t lay down      He wears a blue serge suit with a belt in the back   No flare, so rare, just a belt in the back   He thinks a cat is a household pet   His favorite dance is the minuet   Maybe one day he’s gonna crack   And burn that blue serge suit with the belt in the back      He’s got a gal named “V”, she’s twice as square as he   What a gruesome pair    The way they fuss and frown   When gators strut on down   Is more than I can bear      He wears a blue serge suit with a belt in the back   A pip, a zip, a belt in the back   He wears high shoes and a pair of spats   If you dig that junk it’ll drive you bats   Maybe some day he’s gonna crack   And burn that blue serge suit with the belt in the back