| Mum, I know you’ll think I’m potty |
| But at last I think I’ve found him |
| He’s young, but he’s mature |
| He’s not at all like other men |
| Simon says one day we’ll marry |
| And we’ll have a dozen children |
| I said, «Well I’ll have two, love. |
| You can have the other ten.» |
| Mum, I’ve got this job at Antoine’s |
| That’s a salon on the west side |
| The clients love my accent |
| They all say «Gee, you’re neat!» |
| A shampoo’s called a rinse |
| And a blow dry something filthy |
| Outside the shop on Wednesdays |
| Three nuns tap dance in the street |
| There are lots of things I miss, Mum |
| No one makes a normal sandwich |
| You need Goliath’s mouth to eat the ones New Yorkers buy |
| I long to find a drink that hasn’t got an ice cube in it |
| And for a Wall’s pork sausage, I swear I would gladly die |
| Simon lives in Greenwich Village |
| That’s the trendy part of New York |
| He shares a loft with an attorney |
| With the unlikely name of Dwight |
| Dwight says he’ll get my green card |
| Unless you and Dad are Cuban |
| So if you haven’t lied, Mum |
| I ought to be all right |