Now, first you gotta get the beans, the little nuggets of gold, Some dark and oily, some light and bold. Don't you leave 'em in the sun, or where the air hangs thick and damp, Keep 'em in a mason jar, beneath a little lamp. 'Cause the flavor, it's a fragile thing, it can vanish in the breeze, Like a whisper in the wind, rustlin' through the trees.
