| Just dig that scenery floating by
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| We’re now approaching Newport, Rhode I
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| We’ve been, for years, In Variety
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| But, Cholly Knickerbocker, now we’re going to be
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| In High, High So-
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| High So-ci-
|
| High So-ci-ety
|
| I wanna play for my former pal-
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| He runs the local jazz festival
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| His name is Dexter and he’s good news
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| But sumping kind of tells me that he’s nursing the blues
|
| In High, High So-
|
| High So-ci-
|
| High So-ci-ety
|
| He’s got the blues 'cause his wife, alas
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| Thought writing songs was beneath his class
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| But writing songs he’d not stop, of course
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| And so she flew to Vegas for a quickie divorce
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| In High, High So-
|
| High So-ci-
|
| High So-ci-ety
|
| To make him sadder, his former wife
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| Begins tomorrow a brand-new life
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| She started lately a new affair
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| And now the silly chick is gonna marry a square
|
| In High So-
|
| High So-ci-
|
| High So-ci-ety
|
| But, Brother Dexter, just trust your Satch
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| To stop that wedding and kill that match
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| I’ll toot my trumpet to start the fun
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| And play in such a way that she’ll come back to you, son
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| In High, High So-
|
| High So-ci-
|
| High So-ci-ety |