| Well there’re biscuits on the table and turkey on the stove
|
| Ground rice steaming and green beans stringing and pie that’s? |
| Almond?
|
| That’s the way to spend Thanksgiving, but I’m not there to sit and? |
| take it? |
| in
|
| I live in constant fear of being rolled, 'cause I’m up in New York city
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| catching cold
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| Well there are stockings by the chimney, stuffed with nuts and tangerines
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| Grandma’s chuckle, wild babies gurgle, dads tie is red and green
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| The table is packed with food again, I’m still not there to lend a hand
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| And I’ll miss the greatest story ever told, 'cause I’m up in New York city
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| catching cold
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| Oh I wish that I could be there with the packages and bows
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| To catch you smiling sweetly underneath the mistletoe
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| My chair is sitting empty as they call me on the phone
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| And the whole damn yule time seasons come and go
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| The party hats get dusted off, the family resolute
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| The band parades while cute spring maids give out flag salutes
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| Up here where they drink to twelve o’clock and then tear up the Times Square
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| block
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| I think I see the ghost of Lombardo; |
| he’s up in New York City catching cold
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| I’ll take his arm and head out for a stroll, two spectres in a swirling icy blow
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| Up in New York City catching cold |