Another bride, another tune, another sunny honeymoon. Another season, another reason for making whoopee. A lot of shoes, a lot of rice, the groom is nervous, he answers twice. It's really killing that he's so willing to make some whoopee. Picture a little love mist, down where the roses cling. Picture the same sweet love mist, see what a year can bring. I sit alone, most every night, he doesn't phone, he doesn't write. He says he's busy, and I say, is he? He's making whoopee. He doesn't make much money, only five thousand per. Some judge who thinks he's funny, says you pay six to her. He says, now judge, suppose I fail? The judge says, boy, run into jail. He's had a keeper, I think it's cheaper than making whoopee. Making whoopee, than making...