| What is it about you
|
| You’re big
|
| You’re loud
|
| You’re tough
|
| I go years without you
|
| Then I
|
| Can’t get
|
| Enough
|
| In N.Y.C
|
| Too busy, too crazy
|
| Too hot, too cold
|
| Too late, I’m sold
|
| Again
|
| On N.Y.C
|
| The shadows at sundown
|
| The roofs
|
| That scrape
|
| The sky
|
| The rich and the rundown
|
| The big parade
|
| Goes by
|
| What other town has the Empire State
|
| And a mayor five-foot-two
|
| No other town in
|
| The whole forty-eight
|
| Can half compare
|
| To you
|
| Oh N.Y.C
|
| You make 'em all postcards
|
| You crowd
|
| You cramp
|
| You’re still
|
| The champ
|
| Amen
|
| For N.Y.C
|
| The shimmer of Times Square
|
| The pulse
|
| The beat
|
| The drive!
|
| You might say that I’m square
|
| But damn, I come alive
|
| The city’s bright
|
| As a penny arcade
|
| It blinks, it tilts, it rings
|
| To think that I’ve lived here all of my life
|
| And never seen these things
|
| Oh, N.Y.C
|
| The whole world keeps coming
|
| By bus
|
| By train
|
| You can’t
|
| Explain
|
| Their yen
|
| For
|
| Just got here this morning
|
| Three bucks
|
| Two bags
|
| One me
|
| I give you fair warning
|
| Up there
|
| In lights
|
| I’ll be
|
| Go ask the Gershwins or Kaufman and Hart
|
| The place they love the best |
| Though California pays big for their art
|
| Their fan mail comes addressed
|
| To NYC
|
| Tomorrow a penthouse
|
| That’s way up high
|
| Tonight
|
| The «Y»
|
| Why not?
|
| It’s NYC
|
| NYC
|
| You’re standing room only
|
| You crowd
|
| You cramp
|
| You’re still
|
| The champ
|
| Amen
|
| For N.Y.C |