From the early days as a Louisiana pup,
Jax was always of a mellow temper.
The sun would rise and his ears would prick up,
His eyes shining with a tender glimmer.
The other pups would get up and tumble,
But Jax would lounge and tap a new beat.
Dashing about the pups would start to stumble,
His siblings would be very worn by the heat.
Not Jax. He moved with a wolf-like gait,
Earning him the nick name Smooth Jax.
One evening he met his instrument of fate.
Moving round town he heard the call of the sax.
He watched in deep awe as the musician played,
Moving his head and tail with the sound.
The rest of the night right there he stayed,
Amazed and astound at the music he found.
First thing the next morn Jax went to the store.
He looked all around and saw a sax for himself.
He looked around for some help on the floor,
Seeing no clerk, he bounded up to the shelf.
Quick as a cougar he had completed his hunt.
The tellers all saw his great acrobatics,
And still to this day try to pull the same stunt.
Not Jax. He got what he wanted, a new sax.
From that day to this they are never parted.
You might think he was born with a sax,
To hear him rocking as he gets the party started,
The sweet, legendary sound of Smooth Jax.