Tytuł: The Laughing Song

• Wykonawca: Charlotte Church
• Wyświetleń: 425

My dear Marquis
  Why must you be
  So loathe to use your eyes
  When you stop and stare
  Take a lot more care
  And closely scrutinise
  
  My fingers, my ankles, my feet
  Ha ha ha ha ha
  How shapely and trim and petite
  Ha ha ha ha ha
  Both accent and inflection show polish to perfection
  Such graces are the traces of our old elite
  Such graces are the traces of our old elite
  
  I marvel how a man like you
  Could fail to see my blood was blue
  What a gorgeous, ha ha ha
  Situation, ha ha ha
  What a startling, ha ha ha
  Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha
  What a friendly, ha ha ha
  Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaa
  Ahhhh aaahhhhhh
  Marquis, oh, what a wag you are
  
  Profiles they say
  Give the game away
  When formed with classic grace
  If the head on view
  Isn't much to you
  Then look at me side-face
  
  What evidence more can there be, ha ha ha ha ha
  I sing at soirees without fee, ha ha ha ha ha ha
  Bestowing my attention
  With lofty condescension
  Such graces are the traces of a pedigree
  Such graces are the traces of a pedigree
  
  All's one to you, though I'm afraid
  Because you love a parlour maid
  What a friendly, ha ha ha
  Situation, ha ha ha
  What a startling, ha ha ha
  Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha
  
  What a friendly, ha ha ha
  Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaaa
  Ahhhh aaahhhhhh ahhh aaahhh aahhh
  Ahhhhh aaaaahhhhhh aaaaahhhhhhh
  Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh
  Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh
  Ahhhhhaaaa
  ahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhh
  aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
  
  -Transcribed by Monica, Ravenal