| One minute I’m in Central Park
|
| Then I’m down on Delancey Street
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| From the Bow’ry to St Marks
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| There’s a syncopated beat
|
| Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo
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| I’m streetwise
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| I can improvise
|
| Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo
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| I’m street-smart
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| I’ve got New York City heart
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| Why should I worry?
|
| Why should I care?
|
| I may not have a dime
|
| But I got street savoir-faire
|
| Why should I worry?
|
| Why should I care?
|
| It’s just bebopulation
|
| And I got street savoir-faire
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| The rhythm of the city
|
| But once you get it down
|
| Then you can own this town
|
| You can wear the crown
|
| Why should I worry?
|
| Why should I care?
|
| I may not have a dime
|
| But I got street savoir-faire
|
| Why should I worry?
|
| Why should I care?
|
| It’s just doo-bopulation
|
| And I got street savoir-faire
|
| Everything goes
|
| Everything fits
|
| They love me at the Chelsea
|
| They adore me at the Ritz
|
| Why should I worry?
|
| Why should I care?
|
| And even when I cross that line
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| I got street savoir-faire
|
| Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo
|
| Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo |