| There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
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| A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
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| It is a special one
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| It’s never seen the sun
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| It only comes out when the moon is on the run
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| And all the stars are gleaming
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| It’s growing in the street
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| Right up through the concrete
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| But soft and sweet
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| And dreaming
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| There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
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| A red rose up in Spanish Harlem, yeah
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| With eyes as black as coal
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| That looks down in my soul
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| And starts a fire there and then I lose control
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| I have to beg your pardon
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| I’m goin' to pick that rose
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| And watch her as she grows
 | 
| In my garden
 | 
| There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
 | 
| A red rose up in Spanish Harlem, yeah
 | 
| With eyes as black as coal
 | 
| That looks down in my soul
 | 
| And starts a fire there and then I lose control
 | 
| I have to beg your pardon
 | 
| I’m goin' to pick that rose
 | 
| And watch her as she grows
 | 
| In my garden
 | 
| With eyes as black as coal
 | 
| That looks down in my soul
 | 
| And starts a fire there and then I lose control
 | 
| I have to beg your pardon
 | 
| I’m goin' to pick that rose
 | 
| And watch her as she grows
 | 
| In my garden
 | 
| I’m goin' to pick that rose
 | 
| And watch her as she grows
 | 
| In my garden
 | 
| I’m goin' to pick that rose
 | 
| And watch her as she grows
 | 
| In my garden
 | 
| Spanish Harlem
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| Spanish Harlem
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| Spanish Harlem
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| Spanish Harlem
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| Spanish Harlem |