Here's a great fruit, a fine American man.

You are a pretty girl, when you were just six.

You must have gave all of us our first kiss.

But now you're twenty-three.

They call you man day.

And I don't know you.

I thought I wanted.

You take your hand, the man.

Run down to the corner.

I sing in but too far.

And by far, by far, by far, by far, we're breaking apart.

I ask you that day.

I miss the two of you like me.

I'm about to shake though his bow hands.

It's not all I got.

But I don't really care.

I'll take you anywhere.

Those pretty blue eyes

want to go.

I take your hand, the man.

Run down to the corner.

I sing in but too far.

...