First, Mother. Mother, come sing a song for us.
No, you start that again now. I mean the tune.
No!
Have a go.
Father has a business, strictly second hand.
Everything from toothpicks to a baby grind.
Stuff in our apartment came from Father's door.
Even things I'm wearing someone wore before.
It's no wonder that I feel abused.
I never have a thing that ain't been used.
I'm wearing second hand shoes, second hand hoes.
All the girls hand me their second hand bows.
Even my pajamas when I don them
have somebody else's initials on them.
Second hand rings, second hand things.
I never get what other girlies do.
Once while strolling through the Ritz a girl got my goat.
She nudged her friend and said,
Oh look, there goes my own fat goat.
I don't believe in fretting and grieving.
Why mess around with strife?
I never was cut out to step and strut out.
Give me the simple life.
Some find it pleasant dining on pheasant.
Those things roll off my coat.
Just serve me tomatoes and mashed potatoes.
Any place I hang my head is home.
Nobody knows you when you're down and out.
In your pocket, not one penny.
And your friends, well, you haven't any.
Soon as you get on your feet again,
everybody, everybody is your long lost friend.
It's mighty strange without a doubt.
But nobody knows you when you're down and out.
Oh, everyone knows that I'm just second hand rose
from Second Avenue.
You can't beat the egg creams from Second Avenue.
There's more between me and Fifth Avenue than three blocks,
Second Avenue.
The flowers in spring, the robins that sing,
the sunbeams that shine, they're yours, they're mine.
And love can come to anyone
because the best things in life are free.