Grow, Mrs. Goldfarb, fatter, fatter.
Pile the potatoes on your platter.
Listen to me, 'cause I'm your hubby.
I just adore you plump and chubby.
I got a letter from the state, Dear.
You're gonna need a license plate, Dear.
My little elephant joke come true.
Chew, Mrs. Goldfarb, chew!
There is so much more of you,
More to adore of you,
'Cause you're not slender.
In your white dress, you're a doll,
Big as the Taj Mahal,
In all its splendor.
When you're in department stores,
Don't use revolving doors,
You might get stuck, Dear.
When you use the telephone,
Go in the booth alone,
And lots of luck, Dear.
You had for breakfast: two pounds bacon,
Three dozen eggs, one coffee cake, and
Then you had something really awful,
Four kippered herrings on a waffle.
Nine English muffins, one baked apple,
Boston cream pie, Philadelphia scrapple.
Seventeen bowls of Crispy Crunch.
Then you said, "What's for lunch?"
Sweetheart, you are giant size.
You are Lane Bryant size,
My darling Myrtle.
Last Thanksgiving I was thrilled.
You ate so much, you killed
Your living girdle.
Have another dozen shrimp,
My lovely little blimp.
Don't count a calorie.
I have just received a stub.
I owe the Diner's Club
A whole year's salary.
Eat, Mrs. Goldfarb, daily, nightly.
Eat, though your chair is bending slightly.
Love of my life, I'm glad I found you,
Each day I take a walk around you.
I can't forget when we got married.
Over the threshhold I got carried.
No other bride would be so sweet.
Eat, Mrs. Goldfarb, Eat!
It's very clear: your mother's here to stay.
Not just a year, but ever and a day.
She came to stay just for Mother's Day,
With the kids and you and me,
And that was Mother's Day of 1953.
If it appears that I've become a grouch,
It's all these years of sleeping on the couch.
I hear Gibraltar just tumbled, the Rockies just crumbled,
I knew they'd go some day, but
Your mother's here to stay.
If she'd go back, if she'd just say goodbye,
I'd help her pack, and as she left, I'd cry.
She just complains, with her aches and pains,
And here arteries are hard.
How come she's out there playing leap frog in the yard?
Her evening snack would feed a herd of elk.
Then she sits back, and watches Lawrence Welk.
I'm taking you and the cherubs, and just like the Arabs,
We'll silently steal away, and
Leave Mother here to stay.
There are pills that make you happy.
There are pills that make you blue.
There are pills to kill your streptococci.
There are pills to cure your cockeye too.
There are folks whose pills have made them healthy.
There are folks whose pills have cured their chills.
But the folks whose pills have made them wealthy
Are the folks who make all those pills.
(There are) Dexedrine and Miltown, to pick you up and let you down.
(happy) Or if you're sufferin', swallow a Bufferin.
(pills) Vitamin C's a pill for folks who shiver.
(sad) And there's a pill for Carter's little liver.
(pills) And if you're sleeping in the hospital, because you're ill,
(pills) Betcha the nurse will wake you up to take a sleeping pill.
There are pills for young folks and for old folks,
Each disease has got its remedy.
But no pill can cure the common cold, folks,
So if you sneeze, please don't sneeze on me.
Achoo!
Gesundheit.
My name is Mr. Bloom, and I'm from New Rochelle,
And I sing this happy tune,
Because my son, the astronaut, young Harvey Bloom,
Has landed on the moon.
My wife and I, we miss our little Harvey so,
Back here in New Rochelle,
That every single night,
In the pale moonlight,
We walk out on the patio and yell:
Shine on, shine on, Harvey Bloom-- up in the sky.
You have been in orbit since January, February, June and July.
Don't come back too soon, we rented out your room.
So shine on, shine on, Harvey Bloom-- up there on the moon.
We'll miss you on the holidays, this year they're coming later.
We hope you have a very lovely seder in your crater.
Your mama sent the astronauts some chicken soup at school.
They're using it instead of rocket fuel.
If you like outer space, you oughta see your sister Janet.
She came in with a hairdo that is from another planet.
Your girl friend Shirley misses you, the Air Force says she had
A temper tantrum on the launching pad.
Shine on, shine on, Harvey Bloom-- up in the sky.
Under separate cover, I'm sending you some pickles and a corned beef on rye.
You brought Bromo Seltzer with you, I presume.
So shine on, shine on, Harvey Bloom.
Harvey Bloom is on the moon, oh yeah!
Listen, all you children, to my sad refrain,
About a subway conductor on a runaway train.
Squeezing people into cars, he won his fame.
(yeah) And John Charles Cohen was the great man's name.
J. C. Cohen, what a great conductor,
IRT, that's a subway line,
And if you gotta travel uptown,
He's a greater conductor than Leonard Bernstein.
'Twas on a Sunday in the summer, and from everywhere,
People planned to take a subway to the World's Fair.
A half a million people tried to push and jar,
All of them determined to get in one car.
But the IRT depended on their finest men.
J. C. Cohen could pack a subway like a sardine can.
He pushed the people up and back and 'round about.
He squeezed so many in, he squeezed the engineer out.
J. C. Cohen, what a great conductor,
How he'd moan, "Step to the rear."
J. C. Cohen, he really had a problem,
On a subway train without an engineer.
J. C. tried to get into the engineer's place,
But when he look inside the cab he saw a strange man's face.
A half-pint drunk with a full-pint bottle.
He emptied out the bottle, and he yelled, "Full throttle!"
They passed Columbus Circle doing 82,
'Couple minutes later they were under Bronx Zoo.
J. C. shuddered, and he said, "I guess
This used to be a Local, but it's now an Express."
J. C. Cohen, what a great conductor,
Kept his head when everyone was tense.
He said, "When we pass the city limits,
Everybody pays another fifteen cents."
J. C. said, "We're heading north, my friends,
But not a man alive knows where the subway ends."
The train went under Albany at 90 flat,
And Governor Rockefeller hollered, "What was that!?"
A lady said to J. C. Cohen with indignation,
"If this is Albany, then you have passed my station.
So either you should take me back to Fifty-ninth Street,
Or ask one of these gentlemen to give me his seat."
J. C. Cohen, what a great conductor,
J. C. Cohen noticed something odd.
When he saw lobsters on the roadbed,
He said, "I got a feeling we're beneath Cape Cod."
Oh well, the train kept speeding to the north, my friends,
Finally came to where the tunnel ends.
When they came up to the surface from the long, long hole,
They were 27 inches from the great North Pole.
J. C. hollered, "Everybody out!
This is the end of the line, beyond the shadow of a doubt."
They went out to get some fresh air, and before they took a whiff,
Cohen and all the passengers were frozen stiff.
J. C. Cohen, what a great conductor,
Bless his soul, he ran out of luck.
J. C. Cohen, he was really frozen,
And he had to be brought home in a Good Humor truck.
When they told Mrs. Cohen that she'd lost her man,
She said, "Must you interupt me when I'm playing Pan?"
Then she said to her partner, Mrs. R. J. Rosen,
"Cohen was a lovely husband, but he's no good frozen."
Then she went to her little boy, and took his hand,
And she said, "I'm going to take you out to Disneyland.
So Melvin, little darling, don't you weep or wail,
'Cause you got another papa on the monorail."
(Got another papa on the monorail.)
My daughter needs a new phonograph.
She wore out all the needles.
Besides, I broke the old one in half.
I hate the Beatles.
She says they have a Liverpool beat.
She says they used to play there.
Four nice kids from offa the street.
Why didn't they stay there?
What is all the screaming about?
Fainting and swooning.
Sounds to me like their guitars
Could use a little tuning.
The boys are from the British Empire.
The British think they're keen.
If that is what the British desire,
God Save The Queen.
No daughter of mine can push me around.
In my home I'm the master.
But when the British come into town,
Gad, what a disaster.
Little girls in sneakers and jeans.
Destroyed the territory.
'Twas like some of the gorier scenes
From West Side Story.
Of course my daughter had to go there.
The tickets are cheap, she hollers.
I was able to pick up a pair
For forty-seven dollars.
When the Beatles come on the stage,
They scream and shriek and cheer them.
Now I know why they're such a rage,
It's impossible to hear them.
Ringo is the one with the drum,
The others all play with him.
It shows you what a boy can become
Without a sense of rhythm.
There's Beatle books and T-shirts and rings,
And one thing and another.
To buy my daughter all of these things,
I had to sell her brother.
Back in 1776
We fought the British then, folks.
Parents of America,
It's time to do it again, folks.
When they come back, here's how we'll begin,
We'll throw 'em in Boston harbor.
But please, before we toss 'em all in,
Let's take 'em to a barber.
Beautiful Teamsters, please let me join.
Can't drive a truck, but I'm willing to loin.
Beautiful Teamsters, I love youse all.
That's why I'm standing by your union hall.
I would be proud to carry my load.
Help all the drivers stuck by the road.
Beautiful Teamsters, driving by night.
Pass on the left side, but not on the right.
Wouldst you would take me, life would be sweet.
Then I could eat where the truck drivers eat.
Beautiful Teamsters, I'll pay the dues.
Give me the news that I'm now one of youse.
Crossing state lines with no opposition,
Thanks to the Interstate Commoice Commission.
Driving through sleet and blizzard and shower.
Blocking each street at the peak of rush hour.
Tossing big boxes into the air,
'Specially the ones that say, "Handle With Care."
Beautiful Teamsters, won't you take me,
Or I'll to back to practicing brain soigery.
Di-de-di-de-di-de-di. (di-de-di-de-di-de-di)
Di-de-di-de-di-de-di. (di-de-di-de-di-de-di)
Di-de-di-de-di-de-di. (di-de-di-de-di-de-di)
Di-de-di-de-di-de-di. (di-de-di-de-di-de-di)
The girls go crazy when they get a kiss from Myer.
A kiss from Myer is the acme of desire.
The kiss of Myer makes their temperature get higher.
The kiss of Myer lit the Great Chicago Fire.
He has a way that makes the ladies feel exalted.
He'll take you out and treat you to a chocolate malted.
And some pistachio nuts, a nickel's worth, unsalted.
And after that, little girl, you're through.
He'll try to lure you, one night when stars are twinkly,
He'll call and say, "Come over, we'll watch TV."
But I assure you, you'll see no Huntley-Brinkley,
'Cause Myer hasn't got a TV set.
What does he need it?
He'd never use it.
To him, the Late Late Show is you!
The kiss of Myer is so sweet that none is sweeter.
The girls can't wait for him to come and read their meter.
He's known all over as the Bronx La Dolce Vita.
The Cary Grant of the Grand Concourse.
Whatever Myer wants, Myer gets.
And that's his name.
His name is Myer Goetz!
I live in Italy, the sky is sunny.
'T'sa nice-a place. 't'sa nice-a place.
And if you think the way I talk is funny,
Shaddup-a you face. Shaddup-a you face.
America to me is not so foreign.
It's just the same. She's just the same.
Of course you have-a no got Sophia Loren.
Don't be ashamed, don't be ashamed.
Bella, bella, atsa means-a cute.
Vespa, Vespa, atsa motor scoot.
And if you in a nice-a mood for some-a nice Italian food,
Veal with cheese-a on it is Veal Parmigiana.
The opera house in Rome is called La Scala.
Is very strange. Is very strange.
Ten thousand lira makes a half-a-dolla.
You getta some change. You getta some change.
In Venice if you do a lotta driving,
Then don't-a forget, please don't forget,
Before you drive, go study scuba diving.
The streets is-a wet. The streets is-a wet.
Vino, vino, atsa glass-a wine.
You drink Yousef, I'll-a drink-a mine.
Vittorio DeSica makes a picture twice-a week-a.
Soup with macaroni is called-a minnestrone.
I wrote to Anna Maria Alberghetti.
She sings-a high. Up very high.
I typed the letter on my Olivetti,
I don't know why. I took a try.
Dean Martin, he's a nice Italian fella.
A friend of Frank's. A friend of Frank's.
If you give them a piece of mozzarella,
They tell you thanks. A thousand thanks.
Dolce, dolce, dolce means-a sweet.
Grapes is-a things-a you stamp with you feet.
The Tower of Pisa, she's-a lean. A Necchi is a sewin' machine.
Eat-a some lasagna, but-a don't get any on ya.
A nice-a painter was Botticelli.
He's very old, he's very old.
He's-a paint a lady with a naked belly,
She caught a cold. She caught a cold.
I know a man who wrote a song, "Volare"
He gotta cash. A lotta cash.
He took-a da cash and bought a new Ferrari.
He made a crash. His fender smash.
Gina, Gina Lollobrigida.
I love her, but que sera sera.
And if you see Anna Magnani with Marcello Mastroianni,
Ask if you could borra some spaghetti marinara.
Columbus was a nice Italian fella.
He had no boats. He needed some boats.
So he's fool around with Queen Isabella.
She hadda three boats. She give him the boats.
The queen, she said, "Columbus, pootchy-wootchy,
If you should land in some new land,
Please name it for Americus Vespucci,
'Cause he's a nice Italian man.
Nina, Pinta, and-a Saint Marie,
Fourteen-a ninety-two they sailed the sea,
They found the land and it was grand, and then Columbus he's proclaim:
"I call this land America, a nice Italian name."
(And that's-a why America's a nice Italian name.)
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A Japanese transistor radio.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
Green polka-dot pajamas,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
(It's a Nakashuma.)
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A calendar book with the name of my insurance man,
Green polka-dot pajamas,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
(It's the Mark IV model. That's the one that's discontinued.)
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A simulated alligator wallet,
A calendar book with the name of my insurance man,
Green polka-dot pajamas,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
(And it comes in a leatherette case with holes in it,
So you can listen right through the case.)
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A statue of a lady, with a clock where her stomach ought to be,
A simulated alligator wallet,
A calendar book with the name of my insurance man,
Green polka-dot pajamas,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
(And it has a wire with a thing on one end that you
Can stick in your ear, and a thing on the other end
That you can't stick anywhere, because it's bent.)
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A hammered aluminum nutcracker,
And all that other stuff,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A pink satin pillow that says San Diego, with fringe all around it,
And all that other stuff,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
An indoor plastic birdbath,
And all that other stuff,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A pair of teakwood shower clogs,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
A chromium combination manicure scissors and cigarette lighter,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
An automatic vegetable slicer that works when you see it on television, but not when you get it home,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, although it may seem strange,
On the twelfth day of Christmas, I'm going to exchange:
An automatic vegetable slicer that works when you see it on television, but not when you get it home,
A chromium combination manicure scissors and cigarette lighter,
A pair of teakwood shower clogs,
An indoor plastic birdbath,
A pink satin pillow that says San Diego, with fringe all around it,
A hammered aluminum nutcracker,
A statue of a lady, with a clock where her stomach ought to be,
A simulated alligator wallet,
A calendar book with the name of my insurance man,
Green polka-dot pajamas,
And a Japanese transistor radio.
Merry Christmas everybody!
My name is Charlie Blumberg
And I travel everywhere.
'Cause I'm a traveling salesman,
So I fly from here to there.
In every town I visit
Folks must think I'm really swell.
'Cause everytime I leave a town,
I get a fond farewell.
Every time I fly away,
People cry, and they say,
"Bye bye, Blumberg."
It's a shame I have to go,
Seeing as how they miss me so.
Bye bye, Blumberg.
Once I took a trip with Irving Cohen.
No one even noticed he was goin'.
Me they smashed across the head,
With champagne, and they said,
"Blumberg, bye bye."
Packed my Playboy magazine,
Drip-dry shirt and Dramamine.
It's bye bye, Blumberg.
All night I'm like Don Juan,
But sorry, girls, I fly at dawn.
Bye bye, Blumberg.
The stewardess says, "Fasten safety belt, sir."
Then she serves me coffee, tea, or seltzer.
And each night when I retire, the Mormon Tabernacle choir sings
"Blumberg, bye bye."
I was in Cambodia.
They don't say hello to ya,
Just "Bye bye, Blumberg."
In the archipelagoes,
No matter where a fella goes,
Bye bye, Blumberg.
Even in Arabia when I fly by,
Abdul Nasser stands there waving bye bye.
And you'll see when I'm really gone,
In neon lights at Forest Lawn,
"Blumberg, bye bye."
Beloved Blumberg,
Oh Blumberg,
Ah bye bye.
Look up in the sky!
You will find a Blumberg of Happiness!