Nat King Cole

Ella, don't start acting innocent, you turned every note into a flex and left the rest of us humble.

The real problem is Nat sings like the moon owes him money.

Smooth is fine, Nat, but you make every song sound like a perfume ad with better lighting.

Frank, you talk like swagger was invented in a mirror, and yet here you are losing to a piano chair.

Frank, sit down, your whole brand is acting offended by talent.

Louis, when you sing, even my ego stands up straight.

Both of you sound pretty until the trumpet starts speaking, then suddenly it's a group chat.

Frank, babe, you don't carry a room, you argue with it until it claps.

Real talk, Nat won the argument with one note and Frank is still composing a rebuttal.

Smooth is fine, Nat, but some of us had to carry a room without sounding like a velvet pillow.