| Lying in bed on a weekday night
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| Listening to the title fight
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| From a town the radio said was Atlantic City
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| The branches brush the windows
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| The hour is early evening
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| And Frankie’s beating hell out of the champion
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| Frankie is the one, you know
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| Frankie is the boy
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| I hope my sister’s listening
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| From her place in Illinois
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| For though the world is turning darkly
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| All the stars are out tonight
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| There are dreams still shining, redefining
|
| All that makes us feel alright
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| Lying in bed in the afternoon
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| Listening to Frankie Lymon tunes
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| While the people make their way home
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| From the dusty city
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| The breezes blow the curtains
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| The hour is early evening
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| And Frankie’s singing songs just like a champion
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| Frankie was the one, you know
|
| Frankie was the boy
|
| My sister shook his hand the night
|
| He played at the Savoy
|
| And though the world is turning darkly
|
| All the stars are out tonight
|
| There are dreams still shining, redefining
|
| All that makes us feel alright
|
| Frankie is the one, you know
|
| Frankie is the boy
|
| Frankie bears the weight of
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| All our sorrow and our joy
|
| For though the world is turning darkly
|
| All the stars are out tonight
|
| There are dreams still shining, redefining
|
| All that makes us feel alright
|
| I feel alright |