|
Oh, Jesse, I'd like to be |
|
One of those men up on the screen |
|
With an elegant lady and a cafe in Paris |
|
Serving Pernod and Kahlua with cream |
|
You can see it, I know |
|
All the doors have been closed in my face |
|
And the drinks at the Casbah |
|
'Bout a mile or more from the place |
|
And oh, Jesse, won't you look at the planes? |
|
Tell me, oh, Jesse is it true what they say? |
|
There's a capital G in the name of the game |
|
The runway's the home of my silver gray plane |
|
Oh, won't, you look at the planes |
|
Riding down the skyway? |
|
Jesse, aren't those wings just fine? |
|
Don't it make you wanna fly someday |
|
Why, friend, am I so still? |
|
Tied to my job with time to kill |
|
Do I still bear the traces of my old Don Quixote? |
|
Tilting giants on imaginary hills |
|
And, oh, Jesse, won't you look at the planes? |
|
Tell me, oh, Jesse, is it true what they say? |
|
There's a capitol G in the name of the game |
|
The runway's the home of my silver gray plane |
|
Oh, won't, you look at the planes |
|
Riding down the skyway? |
|
Jesse, aren't those wings just fine? |
|
Don't it make you wanna fly someday |
|
Oh, won't, you look at the planes |
|
Riding down the skyway? |
|
Jesse, aren't those wings just fine? |
|
Don't it make you wanna fly someday |
