| The sun comes swaggering across the harbour
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| And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows
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| She already plenty shaky stands there
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| Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty
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| Uptown Luigi who dont speak english so good
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| Is having an accident
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| Backing his dumptruck into the fence
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| The tin cans go clattering down the lane
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| A drowsy bum thinks its thunder
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| And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain
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| No, it ain’t judgement day
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| No, it ain’t Armageddon
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| It’s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning
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| New York putting it’s feet on the floor
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| It’s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning
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| New York putting it’s feet on the floor
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| Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns
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| Worm ridden fruit trees stream out Grand Central
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| Please to be breathing bagels and pollution
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| In Time Square new graffiti, old revolutions
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| A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee
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| Lucky he’s a Jesus freak moonlighting
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| At the Acme discount store over in Queens
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| The burglar alarm starts to scream
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| A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, «FREEZE!»
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| No, it ain’t Worl War Four
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| No, it ain’t World War Four
|
| It’s just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning
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| New York putting its feet on the floor
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| Nearby the Hudson a hooker makes a 'U'
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| To help a blind man to his pew in the park
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| Some long ago home training jars the memory
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| The bag lady says 'Thank you' and curties
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| The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward
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| Having bitten off more than they could chew
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| Moaning them old big city blues
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| Miss Liberty depicts her qualms and grins
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| Another subway starts rattling
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| And Luigi’s cans go clattering down the hill
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| No, it ain’t some kind of ill wind
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| No, it ain’t the world coming to an end
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| Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning
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| New York putting its feet on the floor |