Bell bottoms shuffle on Bourbon's beat,
Disco lights and zombie feet.
Polyester threads and high-heeled shoes,
The undead groove to midnight blues.
The '70s are alive, can you dig it, man?
Zombies rise, groove in sync with the clan.
Bourbon Street zombies, boogie down the lane,
Shaking their bones, they've gone insane.
From dusk 'til dawn, they're on the prowl,
Laissez les bons temps rouler, hear them howl!
Hand Grenades down at Tropical Isle,
Hurricanes at Pat's, groovin' in style.
Creole nights and burning lights,
Bourbon Street zombies own the night!
At Pat O'Brien's, Hurricanes in hand,
Zombie arms sway like sugar cane stalks.
Voodoo whispers rising from the land,
Marie Laveau's shadow walks as they talk.
Joining second lines, they jive,
Topless zombies catching beads with undead glee,
A Bourbon Street zombie jamboree!
Bourbon Street zombies, boogie down the lane,
Shaking their bones, they've gone insane.
From dusk 'til dawn, they're on the prowl,
Laissez les bons temps rouler, hear them howl!
Hand Grenades down at Tropical Isle,
Hurricanes at Pat's, groovin' in style.
Creole nights and burning lights,
Bourbon Street zombies own the night!
Who's got the rhythm, who's got the soul?
(Zombies got the groove, can't control!)
Strands of beads fly through the air,
(Landing on undead with an eerie flair!)
"Cher," they cry, "this party's tight!"
(Fais do-do 'til morning light!)
Funky rhythms fill the air,
Zombie afros bouncing everywhere.
Grooving down to Preservation Hall,
Undead jazz cats playing for them all.
Lagniappe for the zombies tonight,
The French Quarter's spell is out of sight!
Bourbon Street zombies, boogie down the lane,
Shaking their bones, they've gone insane.
From dusk 'til dawn, they're on the prowl,
Laissez les bons temps rouler, hear them howl!
Hand Grenades down at Tropical Isle,
Hurricanes at Pat's, groovin' in style.
Creole nights and burning lights,
Bourbon Street zombies own the night!
As the dawn breaks over Café du Monde,
Our zombie friends begin to abscond.
Powdered sugar on ghostly lips,
Café au lait and ghostly final sips.
But remember, in the French Quarter's eerie light,
A zombie's dance don't end with the night —
They'll be back when darkness falls again,
For another Bourbon Street zombie jamboree, mon ami!