Something funny has been taking place at my neighborhood Giant Eagle. I walk through the glass doors, grab my bunch of bananas, and bam. I start tapping my feet and humming. I don’t know who manages the Giant Eagle playlists but you, my friend, are the jam. Every time I’m in there I shimmy my shoulders and lip sync. And every time (in almost every aisle) people are whistling, humming, or flat out singing. On Monday afternoon while surveying apples The Heat Is On started blaring and Lord help me if I didn’t start shaking my hips.
The heat is on.
Two seconds later the guy next to me was snapping his fingers while tossing potatoes in his cart.
The heat is aw-onnn.
Giant Eagle puts the fun in picking out croutons and trash bags.
Inside your head, on every beat.
Even handling raw chicken doesn’t bother me anymore.
The beat's so loud, deep inside, the pressure's high, to stay alive.
One of these days everyone in the store is going to drop their baskets and break into a synchronized dance.
Oh-ooh ow-ow, oh-ooh ow-ow…tell me can you feel it, tell me can you feel it…