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