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High above Manhattan town |
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What floats and has a shape like that |
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Fans like us who watch the skies |
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We know it's Morph the Cat |
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Gliding like a big blue cloud |
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From Tompkins Square to Upper Broadway |
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Beyond the Park to Sugar Hill |
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Stops a minute for latte |
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He oozes down the heating duct |
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Swims like seaweed down the hall |
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He briefly digs your wiggy pad |
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And seeps out through the wall |
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It's kind of like an arctic mindbath |
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Cool and sweet and slightly rough |
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Liquid light on New York City |
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Like Christmas without the chintzy stuff |
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What exactly does he want |
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This Rabelaisian puff of smoke |
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To make you feel all warm and cozy |
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Like you heard a good joke |
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Like you heard an Arlen tune |
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Or you bought yourself a crazy hat |
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Like you had a Mango Cooler |
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Ooh, Morph the Cat |
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He's all the talk in shops and schoolyards |
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Sultan Place, the Automat |
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Players playin' in da Bronx |
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Respect to Morph the Cat |
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Kind of like an arctic mindbath |
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Cool and sweet and slightly rough |
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Liquid light on New York City |
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Christmas without the chintzy stuff |
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So rich is his charisma |
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You can almost hear it sing |
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He skims the roofs |
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And bells begin to ring |
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Chinese cashiers can feel it now |
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Grand old gals at evening mass |
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Young racketeers |
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And teenage models |
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Laughing on the grass |
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Blessed Yankees have an ally |
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When this feline comes to bat |
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Bringing joy to old Manhattan |
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All watch the skies for Morph the Cat |
