Rattling washboards tinkle and tell me “don’t.” Warbling Elvis sounds a little slow, piano slightly out of tune. Bicycle wheels with little tags on them and tons of missing spokes spinning around. Two Elvis’s sing together, and whoa whoa whoa. Delirious cacophony of Elvis telling me “don’t.” When is it in the song? Stuttering Elvis overlaps and feeds back on himself, piano attacks and silence. His plea accompanied by ever-more confusing conglomeration of melody and piano smashing. Speed of “accompaniment” faster than the slowed down “melody.” Why shouldn’t I, Elvis, and what are you going to do about it?