| I’m just a Broadway Baby,
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| Walking off my tired feet,
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| Pounding Forty Second Street
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| To be in a show.
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| Broadway Baby,
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| Learning how to sing and dance,
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| Waiting for that one big chance
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| To be in a show.
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| Gee, I’d like to be on some marquee,
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| All twinkling lights,
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| A spark to pierce the dark
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| From Batt’ry Park to Washington Heights.
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| Some day maybe,
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| All my dreams will be repaid.
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| I can get to strut my stuff,
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| Working for a nice man
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| Like a Ziegfeld or a Weissman
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| In a big-time Broadway show!
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| Heck, I’d even play the maid
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| To be in a show.
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| Say, Mister producer,
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| Some girls get the breaks.
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| Just give me my cue, sir.
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| I’ve got what it takes.
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| Say, Mister Producer,
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| I’m talkin' to you, sir.
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| I don’t need a lot,
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| Only what I got,
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| Plus a tube of greasepaint and a follow spot!
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| I’m a Broadway Baby,
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| Slaving at the five and ten,
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| Dreaming of the great day
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| When I’ll be in a show.
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| Broadway Baby,
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| Making rounds all afternoon,
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| Eating at a greasy spoon
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| To save on my dough.
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| At my tiny flat there’s just my cat,
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| A bed and a chair.
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| Still I’ll stick it till
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| I’m on a bill all over Times Square.
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| Some day maybe,
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| If I stick it long enough,
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| I can get to strut my stuff,
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| Work-ing for a nice man
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| Like a Ziegfeld or a Weissman
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| In a big-time
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| Broadway show! |