Betty

I know a girl named Betty
who wears patent leather shoes.
She just moved from Missouri
and she's feeling kinda bruised.
She says "hey, hey, hey,"
to the vendor at Park and 81st —
a "good day, good day"
to the mailman as she passes
and she sees the city glowing in the morning
and she feels that she might burst.
I know a wife named Betty
who wears alligator boots.
She stays out all night dancing
and she likes to play the blues.
She says "hey" to her valet
as she rolls in at 6am—
a "good day, good day"
to her husband as he rolls his eyes,
getting up for work
putting on a smirk
cause he knows that
Betty's city: it comes first.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
as the sun glides through the sky.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
and she knows that she could lie
here happy and free,
and all that she can be.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
and the city says "hey, hey, hey."
[jazz interlude]
I know a woman Betty
who wears custom Jimmy Choos
She gets her hair done Thursdays
and she dines at Ruby Foo's
She says "hey, hey, hey"
to the mirror,
looking at sixty years.
A good day, good day,
is one where the awnings go up
and the ice cream truck
sings a song to the delis
with the neighbors yelling
and the couple strolling in the park,
for a lark, buying pretzels from the hot dog cart
and a sense of promise in the air,
everywhere with the feeling there's
nowhere else you belong,
so you join in the song of the
taxi cabs, angry dads,
dog-walkers, fast-talkers,
newsboys, "oh-boys", street noise
Such joy you think that you will burst.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
as the sun glides through the sky.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
and she knows that she could die
here happy and free,
and all that she could be.
Betty likes to watch the city wake up
and the city says "hey, hey, hey."
Hey, hey, hey (x2)
[jazz interlude]
Hey, hey, hey (x3)