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Spanish Harlem |
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Rebecca Pidgeon |
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There is a rose in Spanish Harlem |
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A red rose up in Spanish Harlem |
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She is a special one, she's never seen the sun |
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She only comes out when the moon is on the run |
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And all the stars are gleaming |
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She's growing in the street right up through the concrete |
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But soft and sweet and dreamin' |
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There is a rose in Spanish Harlem |
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A red rose up in Spanish Harlem |
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With eyes as black as coal that look down in my soul |
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And starts a fire there and then I lose control |
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I have to beg your pardon |
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I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows |
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in my garden |
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There is a rose in Spanish Harlem |
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A red rose up in Spanish Harlem |
|
With eyes as black as coal that look down in my soul |
|
And starts a fire there and then I lose control |
|
I have to beg your pardon |
|
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows |
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in my garden |
|
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows |
|
in my garden |
