No, no use in lecturing them, or in threatening them
|
They will just say "who are you"
|
Is that a question or not, and you see that the plot
|
Is predictable, not new
|
But you're still stunned at the things you will do
|
|
No, no use in taking their time or in wasting two dimes
|
On a call to God knows who
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When all you feel is the rain and it's hard to be vain
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When no person looks at you
|
So just be gracious and wait in the queue
|
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CHORUS:
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So when do I get to sing "My Way"
|
When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt
|
When do I get to sing "My Way"
|
In heaven or hell
|
When do I get to do it my way
|
When do I get to feel like Sid Vicious felt
|
When do I get to sing "My Way"
|
In heaven or hell
|
|
Yes, it's a tradition they say, like a bright Christmas Day
|
And traditions must go on
|
And though I say, yes I see, no I really don't see
|
Is my smiley face still on?
|
Sign your name with an X, mow the lawn
|
|
They'll introduce me, "Hello, hello"
|
Women seduce me and champagne flows
|
Then the lights go low
|
There's only one song I know
|
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CHORUS
|
|
There, this home which once was serene, now is home to the screams
|
And to flying plates and shoes
|
But I have no souvenirs of these crackerjack years
|
Not a moment I could choose
|
And not one offer that I could refuse
|
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CHORUS
|
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-----------------
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When Do I Get To Sing "My Way"
|
Sparks |