I knew a man once, very long ago.
They say that he was born in Buffalo,
but I don’t believe it:
Buffalo was never sufficiently
gilded and pearled.
And this man turned out to be
the playboy of the Western world.
Oh, he was elegant past all dreaming;
he made seeming seem like the real McCoy.
All the sheiks of Araby, all the shahs of Persia
couldn’t hold a candle to this boy.
When he walked through a room
it looked as handsome as Napoleon’s tomb,
and the Ford he rode
could have been Mercedes-Benz à la mode.
When he took me out I didn’t doubt
that we were going to the Astor
or the Sherry-Netherland.
Spring seemed to linger
in the little bunch of flowers
he pressed into my hand -
Little bunch of flowers, didn’t cost a dime;
picked them in the park in their prime.
He went around with his heart unfurled:
the one and only playboy of the Western world.
You could fall in love with everyone you’d meet
when you walked with him down the street.
Playboys die young; this one did too,
all worn out making dreams come true.
And the world was grim again, without him again,
without him -
For he was elegant past all dreaming;
he made seeming seem like the real McCoy.
All the sheiks of Araby, all the shahs of Persia
couldn’t hold a candle to this boy.
When they took him out, oh, I didn’t doubt
that he was going to Miami
or some other wonderland.
Spring seemed to linger
in the little bunch of flowers
I pressed into his hand -
Little bunch of flowers, didn’t cost a dime;
picked them in the park in their prime.
He went around with his heart unfurled:
the one and only playboy of the Western world.
He was the playboy of the Western world,
the playboy of the Western world.
