Hush little baby, don't say a word
Papa's gonna take you to West Forty-third
To Town Hall just off Times Square
To see a broadcast go on the air
And if we don't care for radio
We'll go to Radio City to the Christmas show,
And if the Rockettes have sore feet,
Papa's gonna take you to Bleecker Street
And if we see no artists there
Papa's gonna take you to Washington Square
Where we can play chess with the chess wonks
Who come down everyday from the Bronx
And if it's boring and you let the wonk win
Papa's gonna take you to the Algonquin
And if the Round Table is not so round
We'll take a Circle Line cruise to the Long Island Sound
And if the cruise is a great big snooze
Because it's one of those rainy days
Papa's gonna take you to Cartier's
And if the diamonds do not amaze
Papa's gonna take you to some Broadway plays
And if the theater is full of Missourians
And there's too much uplift and not enough prurience
And the audience gets restless and vocal
Papa's gonna take you on the Broadway local
And if they won't move over and give you and me room
Papa's gonna take you to the Russian Tea Room
And if the blinis seem just too small
We'll go next door to Carnegie Hall,
And if it's some choir singing Messiah
Papa's gonna take you to Gray's Papaya
And if the papaya leaves you feeling dry
We'll go to the 92nd Street Y
And if the poetry reading's a bore
And the metaphors you've heard before
And the poets' muse is a much too solemn muse
Papa's gonna take you to St. Bartholomew's
And if the homily bores you to tears,
Papa's gonna take you to the Chelsea Piers
And if the locker room is just too smelly
Papa's gonna take you to Carnegie Deli
And if it's crowded and there's a long line
Of Midwesterners waiting to dine
And at the end you see a man
Who looks like your uncle from Mandan
We'll tiptoe away nice and slow
Over to the Oyster Bar we'll go
And if the Oyster Bar is fresh out of oysters
Papa's gonna take you up to the Cloisters,
And if you don't care for tapestries
We'll go to Zabar's and look at cheese
And if you don't like curds and whey
Papa's gonna take you to the Hard Rock Cafe
And if that rock isn't really and truly hard
Papa's gonna take you over to Juilliard
And if they won't play Paganini for ya
Papa's gonna take you to the Waldorf Astoria,
And if you don't care for candelabra,
Papa's gonna take you to the Metropolitan Opera,
And if you don't like "La Traviata"
As much as a $200 ticket oughta
And the soprano doesn't hang out on the fermata
And the lobby's too full of yadayadayada
We'll go to Holy Trinity for a Bach cantata
And if the music is too serene
We'll stop in at Picholine
And if the poached perch pate pales
Papa's gonna take you to Bloomingdale's,
And if Bloomingdale's doesn't quite bloom
Papa's gonna take you to Grant's Tomb,
And if Grant's Tomb fills you with gloom
Papa's gonna take you to the Rainbow Room
And if the Rainbow makes you blue
Papa's gonna take you to the Central Park Zoo
And if those polar bears submerge
Papa's gonna take you to Trinity Church
And if the vespers don't stand a prayer
And we don't even know what we're praying for
We'll tiptoe out and head for the door
Feeling tired and covered with dust
And our credit cards have all gone bust
Then we may as well cause we know we must
Pack our bags and head back home
Back to the place where the buffalo roam,
Back where the houses are never locked
And people head to bed about nine o'clock
Where there is no subway, no A line or B line,
Just a lonesome highway that heads for the treeline,
Where there's no Zabar's and no Balduccis,
Selling thirty-five different kinds of blue cheese,
We got no Lincoln Center, no Times Square,
Got no salons to do our hair,
No haughty models walking down Fifth Avenue,
Just folks who say "It was real nice havin you"
We'll settle down and work real hard
And pay off the debt on our credit card,
Pay the bill every month
For the fun we had in New York onth.
We're in debt and there's a recession.
Our American Express has lost its expression.
We've been deVisaed and unMastered,
All because of you, you beautiful child.
We'll stay home and save our dough,
And sit around with the radio
In our pajamas and nightgown
But you'll still be the sweetest little baby around.