Flailing away at my primal instrument, I thrust every ounce of power I have to create a primordial beat. Bump, bump. I feel the anxiety of modern life ebb away as I unleash my frustration onto my little bongos. Hail to the ancient!
Bongos? I have like no experience with bongos. Nothing comes to mind. They’re the little drums right? I must sound stupid to someone who knows for sure what they are. And even stupider to someone who owns a set.
I like to play bongo drums just like donkey kong because he reminds me of the good times me and my older brother had when I was younger and could actually get his attention. Childhood.
thats all we need. 1 world , one love, one peace one color, the human color ,one blood ,one reality . unification nothing else, just one word and that word is solidarity,peazzz!!!! que viva puerto rico libre!!!!!
Can you feel the rhythm of the night? Gloria, Gloria can you? I can feel the rhythm of success. In the beat of the drum. bum bum bum. Hear it beat. Tap your feet. Grab a treat. Platanos Maduros. yum yum. nom nom nom. bongoooooooos!! say u love me.
Hear the beating of the drum,
bong
bong
As our lives go and come,
bong
bong
What will tomorrow bring?
bong
bong
Nothing but the words we sing.
bong
bong
bongo drums, like that one time at daniel’s house where he and i and his dad jammed with three seperate drums for like an hour and everyone in the house thought it was really cool. bongos remind me of dingoes, but that’s only because they sound similar. i don’t even think i know what dingoes are.
Bongos were the first instrument I played, those long nights in the smokey cafe. It always started out okay, and then eventually the smoke went to my head. I got dizzy, and world began to spin, yet it was wonderful.
The Bongos are coming for me, coming for you. They eat souls like we eat dry roasted almonds. The cry of the almonds rang through the desert air like a siren, a thousand screams caught in their weathered lungs. Forever silent. Forever cold.
the bongos were cold, harsh cold, like a frosty night. Mike was dead as the bongos. dead to the world. He didn’t know what was coming for him on the night of the bongos, nor did he know what lay in the damp earth at the foot of his door. all he knew was the frosty air.
hello my name is______ and im a 19 year old girl with kind of bad luck in love. im in love with this guy who was my ex but never demostrate me too much.
played on the beach, make a cool sound, reminds me of vacation. hard to play in real life, don’t want to buy them. Tan, dark brown. can stick your hand in them. attached, people who play are a little weird
Bum bum bum bongo drum. People dancing and a fire is spitting up hot firefly coals and embers. Darker skin and happy skin with lots of dirt kicked up and bare feet. No care for how you flow as long as you’re flowing!
the steady beat of the bongos kept my hips in check, they were my life right at that moment they were the ones who kept me dancing with that one guy who i just met. nobody knew my secret here just the rythm of the bongos was all that mattered.
Richard feynmann was one of the finest physicists of this century. A nobel prize award winner, he also was an artist, womanizer and bongo player. His nickname was the great explainer, which was given to him because of his great ability to explain things.
“I don’t like them.” Alex stated as she stared at the new instrument she was suppposed to play. Zack laughed at his little sisters expression before pushing the instrument into her hand. “Come on you’ll never know till you try.”
bongos again i thought it would be a diffrent work thats kinda boring you know only can do one not test your skills over and over just bongos and why did you pick bongos was it some sort of method you did you just say hey people like bongos right lets do that its all good no one will ever question it well i did, i did
we played the drums amidst a sea of stars, at night we sang at night we dreamed but it all seems unreal now and i wish i could do things like this i wish i could sit under starry night skies with friends and people i truly care about and play the bongos and sing songs off tune and eat good food and draw nice things but this all seems unreachable and it makes me sad that the things i want will never happen and i wish they would
bongos like the drum i like bongos they make me think african are bongos an african durmm idk brum makes me think of a drum stick u know like the chicken kind haha i said u insted of you oh well times almost up se ya later darn it i mispelledse
Down in the jungle where you hear rumbles and heavens rejoicing in the greatest of spirits of mother earth and all of her loveliness. They thrive off the love.
The Bongos were out in full foce. The silent night pierced with the sounds of these hollow drums, telling the story of a people, a struggle and a triumph.
He was playing the bongos. It wasn’t normal. He worked in an office, wore a suit every day, and crunched numbers. An accountant playing the bongos. It was wonderful and I loved it, though I would never tell him how much. I just listened from around the corner, smiling.
Spoken word poetry. Statements of individuality so fervently sought after in this age of media-groomed market segments. Soul patches and other ironies of conforming to non-conformity.
i always wanted to go to jamaica. or maybe some other tropical, island, i suppose it doesn’t really matter where. i know that a lot of them are poverty stricken and that maybe going there as a tourist is disrespectful, like i’m not acknowledging their hardship. but i don’t want to go to a resort. i want to go off on a deserted beach, by myself. sit naked in the surf and play bongo drums.
drums that people with little worry in their lives play. or that very poetic people play. or people who are trying to be very poetic. there is a noticeable difference between these two groups of people. both are awesome and unique in their own ways.
they are a fun way to pass the time when not sure what else to do, they add little to no substance to many musical numbers but on the odd jungle-related track, the bongos could be much revered, if piloted by the correctly skilled individual. also, gorillas play them in some movie. i think.
she slammed on the drums in the store alone, thinking of the people far away who had made them and would slap them with the friends, smiling widely and loving their simple lives.
so unlike her, she had to wince
Bongos? Aren’t they drums? Drums huh? Drums set the rhythm, the flow, the beat to a song. So bongos do it too…’cept they’re cooler and more exotic. Bongos.
Flailing away at my primal instrument, I thrust every ounce of power I have to create a primordial beat. Bump, bump. I feel the anxiety of modern life ebb away as I unleash my frustration onto my little bongos. Hail to the ancient!
i think bongos are like drums.. making beats.. beats….
Bongos? I have like no experience with bongos. Nothing comes to mind. They’re the little drums right? I must sound stupid to someone who knows for sure what they are. And even stupider to someone who owns a set.
I like to play bongo drums just like donkey kong because he reminds me of the good times me and my older brother had when I was younger and could actually get his attention. Childhood.
thats all we need. 1 world , one love, one peace one color, the human color ,one blood ,one reality . unification nothing else, just one word and that word is solidarity,peazzz!!!! que viva puerto rico libre!!!!!
Around the bonfire, it is as if we are in our own world. Outside doesn
bongos
I once had a pair of bongos. They were amazing. I would hit them and play with them. Made out of real elk. Crazy shit.
I once had a pair of bongos. They were amazing. I would hit them and play with them. Made out of real elk. Crazy shit.
Can you feel the rhythm of the night? Gloria, Gloria can you? I can feel the rhythm of success. In the beat of the drum. bum bum bum. Hear it beat. Tap your feet. Grab a treat. Platanos Maduros. yum yum. nom nom nom. bongoooooooos!! say u love me.
Beat, rhythm, dance and vibe
Pumps my blood, stirs my heart
Feel, dream, feel, be.
Bongos.
Doom, a-tink.. doom doom.
Hear the beating of the drum,
bong
bong
As our lives go and come,
bong
bong
What will tomorrow bring?
bong
bong
Nothing but the words we sing.
bong
bong
bongo drums, like that one time at daniel’s house where he and i and his dad jammed with three seperate drums for like an hour and everyone in the house thought it was really cool. bongos remind me of dingoes, but that’s only because they sound similar. i don’t even think i know what dingoes are.
Bongos were the first instrument I played, those long nights in the smokey cafe. It always started out okay, and then eventually the smoke went to my head. I got dizzy, and world began to spin, yet it was wonderful.
The Bongos are coming for me, coming for you. They eat souls like we eat dry roasted almonds. The cry of the almonds rang through the desert air like a siren, a thousand screams caught in their weathered lungs. Forever silent. Forever cold.
the bongos were cold, harsh cold, like a frosty night. Mike was dead as the bongos. dead to the world. He didn’t know what was coming for him on the night of the bongos, nor did he know what lay in the damp earth at the foot of his door. all he knew was the frosty air.
hello my name is______ and im a 19 year old girl with kind of bad luck in love. im in love with this guy who was my ex but never demostrate me too much.
played on the beach, make a cool sound, reminds me of vacation. hard to play in real life, don’t want to buy them. Tan, dark brown. can stick your hand in them. attached, people who play are a little weird
Bum bum bum bongo drum. People dancing and a fire is spitting up hot firefly coals and embers. Darker skin and happy skin with lots of dirt kicked up and bare feet. No care for how you flow as long as you’re flowing!
the steady beat of the bongos kept my hips in check, they were my life right at that moment they were the ones who kept me dancing with that one guy who i just met. nobody knew my secret here just the rythm of the bongos was all that mattered.
Richard feynmann was one of the finest physicists of this century. A nobel prize award winner, he also was an artist, womanizer and bongo player. His nickname was the great explainer, which was given to him because of his great ability to explain things.
“I don’t like them.” Alex stated as she stared at the new instrument she was suppposed to play. Zack laughed at his little sisters expression before pushing the instrument into her hand. “Come on you’ll never know till you try.”
bongos again i thought it would be a diffrent work thats kinda boring you know only can do one not test your skills over and over just bongos and why did you pick bongos was it some sort of method you did you just say hey people like bongos right lets do that its all good no one will ever question it well i did, i did
we played the drums amidst a sea of stars, at night we sang at night we dreamed but it all seems unreal now and i wish i could do things like this i wish i could sit under starry night skies with friends and people i truly care about and play the bongos and sing songs off tune and eat good food and draw nice things but this all seems unreachable and it makes me sad that the things i want will never happen and i wish they would
bongos like the drum i like bongos they make me think african are bongos an african durmm idk brum makes me think of a drum stick u know like the chicken kind haha i said u insted of you oh well times almost up se ya later darn it i mispelledse
bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos bongos
Thump-thump-thump
I can’t help but move.
The beat is erratic,
crazed,
hard to follow
But I do it anyway.
Down in the jungle where you hear rumbles and heavens rejoicing in the greatest of spirits of mother earth and all of her loveliness. They thrive off the love.
The Bongos were out in full foce. The silent night pierced with the sounds of these hollow drums, telling the story of a people, a struggle and a triumph.
Most people would think of the instrument, but no, not me I think of jeans, the most comfortable jeans, you can get them in all styles and colors.
My heart was beating like bongos
as you pushed upo against me
and sent me
falling down
so far
for you
bongos baby
Bongos in my nose
I like bongos in my nose
and not coke in my nose
BUT BONGODSGKDSHGLS
AND GABBY LOVES BONGOS
AND WTF BONGOS
WHY DID IT SAY BONGOS
OF COURSE IT DID SAY BONGOS
OHHHHHHH HOW COINCIDENTAL.
bongos. in my bongos.
He was playing the bongos. It wasn’t normal. He worked in an office, wore a suit every day, and crunched numbers. An accountant playing the bongos. It was wonderful and I loved it, though I would never tell him how much. I just listened from around the corner, smiling.
Spoken word poetry. Statements of individuality so fervently sought after in this age of media-groomed market segments. Soul patches and other ironies of conforming to non-conformity.
Bong
i always wanted to go to jamaica. or maybe some other tropical, island, i suppose it doesn’t really matter where. i know that a lot of them are poverty stricken and that maybe going there as a tourist is disrespectful, like i’m not acknowledging their hardship. but i don’t want to go to a resort. i want to go off on a deserted beach, by myself. sit naked in the surf and play bongo drums.
drums that people with little worry in their lives play. or that very poetic people play. or people who are trying to be very poetic. there is a noticeable difference between these two groups of people. both are awesome and unique in their own ways.
they are a fun way to pass the time when not sure what else to do, they add little to no substance to many musical numbers but on the odd jungle-related track, the bongos could be much revered, if piloted by the correctly skilled individual. also, gorillas play them in some movie. i think.
she slammed on the drums in the store alone, thinking of the people far away who had made them and would slap them with the friends, smiling widely and loving their simple lives.
so unlike her, she had to wince
Bongos? Aren’t they drums? Drums huh? Drums set the rhythm, the flow, the beat to a song. So bongos do it too…’cept they’re cooler and more exotic. Bongos.