What do I hear, what do I hear? Chit-chat, and clinking glass Cheap talk, a lady's laugh After hour
What do I see, what do I see? Some sunken hideaway Where people go to play After hour
There I'll spend the night Meeting fancy thins At bistros and old haunts Trying very hard to sin
Then it is day end in a way The pattern's much the same In-spots, a matinee Every day
Blend with the crowd, blend with the loud Hypnotic ebb and flow Until the day goes slowly Into night See the same old crowd At bistros and old haunts 'Til the lights grow dim, The not-so-subtle hint to be gone
Chorus: Thank God it's not Christmas When there is only you And nothing else to do Thank God it's not Christmas Where there's just you to do The rest is closed to public view
Caroling kids, caroling kids A trifle premature, in tones so rich and pure and crystaline Call for the day, the popular day It's fast approaching now But will the mood allow One dissent
If this were the Seine We'd be very suave But it's just the rain Washing down the boulevard
(Chorus)
Popular days, the popular ways Are for the chosen few Not meant for me and you Obviously
Popular nights, poplar rites Great things to say and do Aren't said or done by you Obviously
If this were Seine We'd be very suave But it's just the rain Washing down the boulevard