| By a jazz club window a young boy stood one day
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| To hear the band rehearsing the tunes that they would play
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| While they wouldn’t let him inside cuz there wasn’t any room in there
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| And when asked why he listened he said I’m just wondering where
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| Where shall I be when that first trumpet sounds
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| Where shall I be when it sounds so loud
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| It sounds so loud as to wake up the dead
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| Oh, where shall I be when it sounds
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| Maybe I’ll be swinging on down that dusty road
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| Well I’m wondering why bring me such a big … oh lord
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| Nobody seems to bother if I live or if I die
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| But when that fan starts swinging my soul begins to fly
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| Where shall I be when that first trumpet sounds
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| Where shall I be when it sounds so loud
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| It sounds so loud as to wake up the dead
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| Oh, where shall I be when it sounds
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| If I reach a hundred well I won’t be satisfied
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| Until I hear that trumpet swinging only by my side
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| Well I don’t know where I’m heading and the way there isn’t very clear
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| But that happy music is all I wanna hear
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| Where shall I be when that first trumpet sounds
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| Where shall I be when it sounds so loud
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| It sounds so loud as to wake up the dead
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| Oh, where shall I be when it sounds |