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Rush shifts register here into something looser and more playful, the tempo brisk, the guitar tone brighter and more cutting than his slower material. The title carries the kind of double meaning that blues has always used as both a survival mechanism and a form of wit — the surface of the lyric is innocent, but the subtext is clear to anyone paying attention, and Rush performs the ambiguity with obvious pleasure. His guitar work on this track is more aggressive and rhythmically forward, leaning into the beat rather than stretching against it, and there's an almost taunting quality to his phrasing, as though he's daring the listener to catch up. The call-and-response structure that underlies much of Chicago blues is present here in a particularly lively form — Rush's guitar and voice seem to egg each other on, each verse pushing the energy a notch higher. This side of Otis Rush is sometimes overlooked in favor of his more anguished recordings, but it reveals something essential: the blues as a mode of play, not just pain. The West Side scene in the late 1950s contained multitudes, and Rush moved through them with ease. This is the song you'd hear spilling out of a bar on a summer Friday evening when the week is finally behind you and the night is still open, the guitar cutting through the street noise with something that sounds unmistakably like joy.