I want a lot of other things Ive never had before,
Its just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn
Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing Im adored
Im as restless as a willow in a windstorm,
Im as jumpy as a puppet on a string,
Id say that I had spring fever,
But I know it isnt spring.
Im as starry eyed and gravely discontented,
Like a nightingale without a song to sing.
Oh, why should I have spring fever,
When it isnt even spring?
I keep wishing I were somewhere else,
Walking down a strange new street,
Hearing words I have never never heard,
From a man Ive yet to meet.
Im as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,
Im as giddy as a baby on a swing,
I havent seen a crocus or a rosebud,
Or a robin or a bluebird on the wing,
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way,
That it might as well be spring,
It might as well be, might as well be,
It might as well be spring.
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
"The Boy Next Door" as written by Ralph Blane Hugh Martin
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
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