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AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Rod Stewart
Stimme und Gesang
Bob Singers
Begleitgesang
Cindy Singers
Begleitgesang
The Clappers
Begleitgesang
The Pets
Begleitgesang
Bob Glaub
Bassgitarre
David Hood
Bassgitarre
Donald "Duck" Dunn
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Leland Sklar
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Schlagzeug
Nigel Olsson
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Roger Hawkins
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Willie Correa
Percussion/Schlagzeug
Fred Tackett
Gitarre
Jesse Ed Davis
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Jimmy Johnson
Gitarre
Pete Carr
Gitarre
Steve Cropper
Gitarre
Booker T. Jones
Hammondorgel
Roger Hopps
Horn
Albhy Galuten
Tasteninstrumente
Barry Beckett
Tasteninstrumente
David Lindley
Mandoline
Andrew Love
Saxofon
Ed Logan
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James Mitchell
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Tom McGinley
Saxofon
Jack Hale
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The Memphis Horns
Horn
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Rod Stewart
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
burt Szerlip
Ingenieurassistent:in
Dan Augustino
Ingenieurassistent:in
Steve Gursky
Ingenieurassistent:in
Gabby Garcia
Ingenieur:in
Jerry Masters
Ingenieur:in
Rich Blakin
Ingenieur:in
Steve Melton
Ingenieur:in
Willie Mitchell
Ingenieur:in
Melvyn Abrahams
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Tom Dowd
Produzent:in
Andy Zax
Produzent:in
Cheryl Pawelski
Produzent:in
Dave Schultz
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Patrick Kraus
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Paroles
Went downtown on the 249
Playin' for recognition of the New York town
See, me and my boys got a rock 'n' roll band
They were so damn good, gonna lift up the man, yeah
Well, we got ups, we got downs
We got just so high 'til the sun goes down
Got the ego, can be abused
I got my two-toned shoes and I can sing the blues
Look out, kids, it's the FBI
We got a problem, you keep me high
Put on your clothes, take the smile off your face
And put your money where your mouth is or get out this place
New York town is a mean ass town
We got a thousand bands singin' underground
Way down in New Orleans it's the same old thing
Emotional music a merry old thing
Well, Old King Soul, he finally gave us a jolt
He played the vibes 'til nine and read from ten to four
He played upside down, he played inside out
Then a uniform band he was thrown into jail
Look out, kids, it's the FBI
We got a problem, you keep me high
Put on your clothes, take the smile off your face
Put your money where your mouth is or get out this place
Hit it
Gettin' hungry, I know, little woman
Can't get a smell 'cause my nose is blocked
I'm so high, I can't believe it
Hotel dogs are knockin' on my door
Two nights of singin' nearly out on the end
Left the two parts red, oh what a square
As soon as the man, there's no sweeter song
Listen, McCartney, we're the band on the run
Look out, kids, it's the FBI
We got a problem, you keep me high
Put on your clothes, take the smile off your face
And put your money where your mouth is or get out this place
Oh, yeah
Writer(s): Rod Stewart
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