I woke up singing Uptown Funk this morning. It must have been in this bizarre college dream I had last night, maybe during the party scene in my old church sanctuary with a couple of movie stars and some college friends I haven't seen for years?
Regardless, with that song in embedded in my brain, I knew it would be a good day. I mean, you can't help but dance along to this. It's a physical and psychological impossibility. Even though they play it to death on the radio. Even though there have been 147 parodies. It's just a damn fun tune.
Before the sun came up, as I was doing my butt lifting Barre3 exercises...
This hit, that ice cold
Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold
This one for them hood girls
Them good girls straight masterpieces
Waking up the kids with armpit tickles and ruddy cheek kisses...
Stylin, whilen, livin it up in the city
Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent
Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty
Packing lunches, kissing Rich in the kitchen...
I'm too hot, (hot damn)
Call the police and a fireman
I'm too hot, (hot damn)
Say my name you know who I am
Doing Sam's hair (with Sam singing the whoos)...
Girls hit your hallelujah (whoo)
Girls hit your hallelujah (whoo)
Girls hit your hallelujah (whoo)
Dancing with Lena on her bed while she got dressed...
Cause uptown funk gonna give it to you
Cause uptown funk gonna give it to you
Cause uptown funk gonna give it to you
Saturday night and we in the spot
Don't believe me just watch
We all left with smiles on our faces (me because of the song, my family surely because I had been dancing around singing like an idiot all morning), hopeful that our days would be...
Smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy
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