This town is full of guys who think they're mighty wise,. Just because they know a thing or two.. You can see them every day, strolling up and down Broadway,.
The day is my enemy, the night my friend,. For I'm always so alone. Till the day draws to an end.. But when the sun goes down. And the moon comes through,.
Is it an earthquake or simply a shock?. Is it the good turtle soup or merely the mock?. Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy?. Or is what I feel the real McCoy?.