She packs her bag and then she runs and all I can do is watch her go
I’ve lost all I own
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more
She goes downstairs to the kitchen clutching her hankerchief
She sits in a corner by the door.
There must be more I can tell her.
If she really wants me to help her.
I’ll do what I can to show her the way.
And maybe one day I will free her.
Though I know no one can see her.
Lisa Lisa, sad Lisa Lisa.
[My favorite Cat Stevens’ song. Thanks, Annie]
Lisa says that she’s on the run
Looking for a special one
Lisa says that every time she makes it straight
She knows her heart will break
Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand
Just like that river twisting through a dusty land
Take back your Conga, ay!, your Samba, ay!, your Rumba, ay-yi-yi!
Bring back the old days, ay!, of dancing I remember, ay-yi-yi!
My hips are cracking, I am shrieking “Ay-Carumba!”, ay-yi-yi!
Let me start at the start, then take it away.
My name is Simpson, Bartholemew J.
That’s Bart, with an art, and a capital be,
Then Simp, plus S-O-N, that’s me!
Everybody in the house do the Bartman.
Yeah, do the Bartman.
Everybody, if you can, do the Bartman.
Everybody, yeah, do the Bartman.
I wish you love and good will, I wish you peace and joy.
I wish you better than your heart desires and your first kiss from a boy.
Lisa, it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, Lisa. Lisa, it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, Lisa.
(Take it away, Lis.)
It’s Liza with ‘Z’ not Lisa with an ‘S’
'Cause Lisa with an ‘S’ goes ‘ssnozz’
It’s ‘Z’ instead of ‘S’, ‘Lie’ instead of ‘Lee’
It’s simple as can be, see, Liza
I got a gal an’ you got none, Li’l Liza Jane.
I got a gal an’ you got none, Li’l Liza Jane.
Washed in the tears of the revolution, babe
Born in the back of a Studebaker
American made
Ah but girl have you no shame
Calamity Jane
Won’t you come see me Queen Jane?
Jane, you say it’s all over for you and me, girl
So let me talk about Mary, a sad story,
I turned her grief into glory
Late at night, by the typewriter light
She ripped his ribbon to shreds
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
For it was Mary, Mary,
Plain as any name can be.
Mary Mary
Why ya buggin?
Mary Mary
I need ya huggin
Mary queen of Arkansas, it’s not too early for dreamin’