Four Classic Albums

Little old lady passing by,
Catching everyone's eye,
You have such a charming manner,
Sweet and shy.
Little old bonnet set in place,
And a Smile on your face,
You're a perfect picture in your
Lavender and lace.
Little bit of business here,
Little bit of business there,
Bet that you've been window shopping
All around the square.
Little old lady, time for tea
Here's a kiss, two or three,
You're just like that little old lady,
I hold dear to me.

Strange dear, but true, dear
When I'm close to you, dear
The stars fill the sky
So in love with you am I

Even without you
My arms fold about you
You know, darling, why
So in love with you am I

In love with the night mysterious
The night when you first were there
In love with my joy delirious
When I knew that you could care

So taunt me and hurt me
Deceive me, desert me
I'm yours 'til I die
So in love
So in love
So in love with you, my love, am I

Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!
I've grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune
That she whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now,
Like breathing out and breathing in.

I was serenely independent
And content before we met.
Surely I could always be that way again - and yet,
I've grown accustomed to her look,
Accustomed to her voice,
Accustomed to her face.

Marry Freddy. What an infantile idea. What a heartless,
wicked, brainless thing to do. But she'll regret it. It's
doomed before they even take the vow.

I can see her now, Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill,
In a wretched little flat above a store.
I can see her now, not a penny in the till,
And a bill collector beating at the door.
She'll try to teach the things I taught her,
And end up selling flowers instead.
Begging for her bread and water,
While her husband has his breakfast in bed.

In a year or so, when she's prematurely grey,
And the blossom in her cheek has turned to chalk,
She'll come home and lo,
He'll have upped and run away,
With a social-climbing heiress from New York.
Poor Eliza. How simply frightful!
How humiliating! How delightful!

How poignant it'll be on that inevitable night
When she hammers on my door in tears and rags.
Miserable and lonely, repentant and contrite,
Will I take her in or hurl her to the walls?
Give her kindness or the treatment she deserves?
Will I take her back or throw the baggage out?

But, I'm a most forgiving man,
The sort who never could, never would,
Take a position and staunchly never budge.
A most forgiving man.

But I shall never take take her back
If she were even crawling on her knees.
Let her promise to atone,
Let her shiver, let her moan,
I'll slam the door and let the hell-cat freeze!

Marry Freddy, HA!

But I'm so used to hear her day,
"Good morning" ev'ry day.
Her joys, her woes,
Her highs, her lows,
Are second nature to me now,
Like breathing out and breathing in.

I'm very grateful she's a woman,
And so easy to forget, rather like a habit
One can always break - and yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace,
Of something in the air,
Accustomed to her face.

It's rather dull in town,
I think I'll take me to Paree.
Mmmmmm.
The mistress wants to open up
The castle in Capri.
Me doctor recommends a quiet summer by the sea!
Mmmm, Mmmm, wouldn't it be loverly?

All I want is a room somewhere,
Far away from the cold night air.
With one enormous chair,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Lots of choc'lates for me to eat,
Lots of coal makin' lots of 'eat.
Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Aow, so loverly sittin' abso-bloomin'-lutely still.
I would never budge 'till spring
Crept over me windowsill.
Someone's 'ead restin' on my knee,
Warm an' tender as 'e can be.
'ho takes good care of me,
Aow, wouldn't it be loverly?
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly

I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm
I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string
I'd say that I had spring fever
But I know it isn't spring

I am starry-eyed and vaguely discontented
Like a nightingale without a song to sing
Oh, why should I have Spring fever
When it isn't even spring?

I keep wishing I were somewhere else
Walking down a strange new street
Hearing words that I have never heard
From a girl I've yet to meet

I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams
I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud or a robin on the wing
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring

It might as well be spring