Hey, Daddy - Go Home
Hey, Daddy
I've been after you all night
Didn't mean it, Daddy
Didn't mean to fight
I'm sorry, baby, I messed up
It's okay
I believe you
Talk is cheap, Queenie
This gold necklace is to show you that I mean what I say
It's beautiful!
But we can't afford it!
Queenie, you don't have to worry
You must be crazy, I swear
Queenie, our troubles are over
Look over there
Look over where?
What a lucky break!
That little piece of angel cake could make us rich
All I want is you
As long as we're together, who needs to be rich?
That's what I mean, Queenie
Just you and me
A couple of months
She could make us enough money
So that we could get out of the life for good
Play along, that's all I'm asking
Trust me, Queenie
I'm doing this for us
There isn't a spot
Just got off the Greyhound
No money, no people, no nothing
Isn't that a shame?
She doesn't even have a place to stay
Isn't that a shame?
Only choice she's got
Is sleeping in the playground
Or maybe a bench in the subway
Whatever you say, Daddy
Whatever you say
Thank you, baby
Mary, you go on with Queenie now
She's gonna set you up real nice
Don't be expecting no deluxe accommodations
Queenie, I've been sleeping in a Greyhound bus seat for four days running
Anything with a bed is gonna seem like heaven to me!
This town ain't for you
Trouble is all you'll find
Not half as bad as the trouble I left behind
Here in New York
It's a very short walk
Before you're over the hill
I'd be willing to betcha
If the perverts don't getcha
The pimps, they sure 'nough will
Like Fleetwood?
Well
Aren't we street-smart
But listen here, sweetheart
And get this straight if you can
Fleet ain't my pimp
Fleet is my man
Oh
Here's a little free advice
Go home
New York isn't very nice
Go home
This town ain't no place to hide
Greyhound took you for a ride
Go on, get your pride
Go home
There's nothing for me anymore back home
Another day, another war back home
Where Mother's always sipping gin
And men are always dropping in
That's how it's been
Back home
Last week my brother's best friend Mike
Go home
Decided I was what he'd like
Go home
And Mike, he really packs a punch
So he had me for lunch
It's not the Brady Bunch
Back home
I'm gonna tell you one more time
Go home
Go home
Go home
I've been after you all night
Didn't mean it, Daddy
Didn't mean to fight
I'm sorry, baby, I messed up
It's okay
I believe you
Talk is cheap, Queenie
This gold necklace is to show you that I mean what I say
It's beautiful!
But we can't afford it!
Queenie, you don't have to worry
You must be crazy, I swear
Queenie, our troubles are over
Look over there
Look over where?
What a lucky break!
That little piece of angel cake could make us rich
All I want is you
As long as we're together, who needs to be rich?
That's what I mean, Queenie
Just you and me
A couple of months
She could make us enough money
So that we could get out of the life for good
Play along, that's all I'm asking
Trust me, Queenie
I'm doing this for us
There isn't a spot
Just got off the Greyhound
No money, no people, no nothing
Isn't that a shame?
She doesn't even have a place to stay
Isn't that a shame?
Only choice she's got
Is sleeping in the playground
Or maybe a bench in the subway
Whatever you say, Daddy
Whatever you say
Thank you, baby
Mary, you go on with Queenie now
She's gonna set you up real nice
Don't be expecting no deluxe accommodations
Queenie, I've been sleeping in a Greyhound bus seat for four days running
Anything with a bed is gonna seem like heaven to me!
This town ain't for you
Trouble is all you'll find
Not half as bad as the trouble I left behind
Here in New York
It's a very short walk
Before you're over the hill
I'd be willing to betcha
If the perverts don't getcha
The pimps, they sure 'nough will
Like Fleetwood?
Well
Aren't we street-smart
But listen here, sweetheart
And get this straight if you can
Fleet ain't my pimp
Fleet is my man
Oh
Here's a little free advice
Go home
New York isn't very nice
Go home
This town ain't no place to hide
Greyhound took you for a ride
Go on, get your pride
Go home
There's nothing for me anymore back home
Another day, another war back home
Where Mother's always sipping gin
And men are always dropping in
That's how it's been
Back home
Last week my brother's best friend Mike
Go home
Decided I was what he'd like
Go home
And Mike, he really packs a punch
So he had me for lunch
It's not the Brady Bunch
Back home
I'm gonna tell you one more time
Go home
Go home
Go home
Credits
Writer(s): Cy Coleman, Ira Gasman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.