| One, two, three, four
|
| Ooh, ooh, ooh
|
| Oh Jessie, I’d like to be
|
| One of those men upon the screen
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| With an elegant lady and a cafe in Paris
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| Serving Pernot and Kalua with cream
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| You can see it I know
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| All the doors have been closed in my face
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| And the drinks at the Casbah
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| Run a mile or more from this place
|
| And oh Jessie, won’t you look at the planes?
|
| Tell me, oh Jessie, is it true what they say
|
| There’s a capital G in the name of the game?
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| And the runway’s a home for my silver red plane
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| And oh won’t you look at the planes?
|
| Riding down the skyway
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| Jessie, ain’t those wings just fine?
|
| Don’t it make you want to fly someday?
|
| Ooh, ooh, ooh
|
| Why friend, am I so still?
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| Tied to my job, with time to kill
|
| Do I still bear the traces of Old Don Quixote?
|
| Tilting giants on imaginary hills
|
| And oh Jessie, won’t you look at the planes?
|
| Tell me, oh Jessie, is it true what they say
|
| There’s a capital G in the name of the game?
|
| And the runway’s a home for my silver red plane
|
| And oh won’t you look at the planes?
|
| Riding down the skyway
|
| Jessie, ain’t those wings just fine?
|
| Don’t it make you want to fly someday?
|
| And oh won’t you look at the planes?
|
| They’re riding down the skyway
|
| Jessie, ain’t those wings just fine?
|
| And don’t it make you want to fly, oh, someday?
|
| Ooh, ooh, ooh |