| It’s Friday and late after hours, |
| And still I haven’t a date. |
| Waiting by the moon, |
| Sipping Whiskey sours. |
| I’ll think I’ll wait here 'till noon. |
| It really could be days, |
| 'Til I find some flowers, |
| So I’ll send you a bouquet. |
| Chorus 1: |
| Uptown, run around, hear the sound, of the city streets below, |
| And people in a rush everywhere. |
| No rain, sugar cane, just a grain, |
| In my champagne glass, you know. |
| You put that magic touch in the air. |
| So they say, it’s closing time again, |
| Funny how time passes, |
| Through a bottle of Champagne. |
| The only sound I hear, is that of rattling glasses, |
| And people laughing in my ear. |
| You’ve taken far too much, since you left for Paris, |
| You’ve got that magic touch. |
| Chorus 2: |
| Uptown, run around, hear the sound, of the city streets below, |
| And the people rush everywhere. |
| No rain, sugar cane, just a grain, |
| In my Champagne glass, you know. |
| You put that magic touch in the air. |
| See those people in a rush, |
| But you’ve got that magic touch. |
| (Repeat twice) |
| Repeat Chorus 1 'til fade. |