N.Y.C.

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
Enough of the cab drivers answering back
In language far from pure
Enough of frankfurters answering back
Brother, you know you’re
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