| With his little mandolin,
|
| And a twinkle in his eye
|
| Signorinas he can win
|
| Always for another guy
|
| Italians love to sip a cup of cappuccino,
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| And listen to the man who plays the mandolino
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| You offer him a cigarette, a glass of vino
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| That’s how he’s paid to serenade your Lady Fair
|
| With his little mandolin,
|
| And a twinkle in his eye
|
| Signorinas he can win
|
| Always for another guy
|
| He seems like a such a happy man
|
| The man who plays the mandolino
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| He sings a song of sweet romance
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| For all the lovers, as they dance
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| But all he’s holding in his arms
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| Is just a little mandolino
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| He has no woman of his own,
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| So every night he walks alone
|
| With his little mandolin
|
| And a twinkle in his eye
|
| Signorinas he can win
|
| Always for another guy
|
| And while he’s strumming songs of love
|
| The man who plays the mandolino
|
| His eyes are anyway always looking for
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| A signorina to adore
|
| He drinks a toast to his true love each time he lifts a glass of vino
|
| And so until that lucky day,
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| He looks for her along the way
|
| With his little mandolin,
|
| And a twinkle in his eye
|
| Signorinas he can win
|
| Always for another guy
|
| The Man With the Mandolino. |