The Laughing Song

My dear Marquis
Why must you be so loath 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 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, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
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 soirées 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

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah



Credits
Writer(s): David Rose, Johann (jun) (+1899) Strauss
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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