Old soul → blues → funk → gospel [SFX: COIN DROPS / MECHANISM TURNS] Well, well. Somebody finally picked me. Don't wipe the dust off. That's history, baby. You want a song? Nah. You need one. [OLD BLUES GUITAR ENTERS] I've been standing in corners longer than you been alive, watched first dates turn to weddings, watched some weddings not survive. Heard a soldier pick a record before he went away, heard somebody play the same one when they buried him one day. I've heard kisses. I've heard fighting. Heard somebody say, "I'm leaving." Then put another quarter in 'cause apparently they wasn't leaving. [JUKEBOX CHUCKLES] People. [VERSE] They call me jukebox, like that's all I ever been. But you don't stand around this long without learning something 'bout men. And women. And children. And all you complicated things. You tell the truth when nobody's looking by the records that you sing. [PRE-CHORUS] I heard you lost somebody. Maybe a lover. Maybe a friend. Maybe somebody still breathing that you'll never hold again. Maybe you had to bury yourself— the person you thought you'd be. Come here. Don't explain it. Just pick something with a beat. [CHORUS — SOUL OPENS INTO FUNK] Old Juke got something for you! CROWD: PLAY THAT THING! Little rhythm for your burden! PLAY THAT THING! Can't promise tomorrow, can't straighten out your past, but for four minutes and some change, baby— WE CAN MAKE THIS FEELING LAST! Take that weight off! PUT IT DOWN! Move them shoulders! MOVE AROUND! You ain't gotta fix your whole life tonight. Just remember— YOU'RE ALIVE! [VERSE 2] You work too much. Money too short. Everybody needs something. Nobody asking if you're alright 'cause you're the one always functioning. Trying hard, ain't feeling like it matters. Future got you worried, past got you captured. Can't forgive. Can't forget. Can't stay. Can't leave. Lord, humans got a thousand ways to make it hard to breathe. So breathe on beat. One. Two. Three. Four. See? Still here. [BREAK — HAMMER] CLANG. ... You hear that? CLANG. Funny. Some old fellow once understood you don't beat a mountain by swinging wild. CLANG—CLANG. You gotta have rhythm. CLANG—CLANG. Timing. CLANG. Breath. CLANG. Now who taught me that? ... Next question. FUNK EXPLODES [FINAL CHORUS] Old Juke got something for you! Put your heavy load down! Cry if you need to! Laugh if it come out! Dance ugly! Dance pretty! Dance like nobody paid admission! You don't need permission to feel alive again. And when this one's done— don't thank me. Put another coin in.
