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No, no use in lecturing them, or in threatening them |
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They will just say "who are you" |
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Is that a question or not, and you see that the plot |
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Is predictable, not new |
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But you're still stunned at the things you will do |
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No, no use in taking their time or in wasting two dimes |
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On a call to God knows who |
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When all you feel is the rain and it's hard to be vain |
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When no person looks at you |
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So just be gracious and wait in the queue |
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CHORUS: |
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So when do I get to sing "My Way" |
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When do I get to feel like Sinatra felt |
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When do I get to sing "My Way" |
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In heaven or hell |
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When do I get to do it my way |
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When do I get to feel like Sid Vicious felt |
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When do I get to sing "My Way" |
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In heaven or hell |
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Yes, it's a tradition they say, like a bright Christmas Day |
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And traditions must go on |
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And though I say, yes I see, no I really don't see |
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Is my smiley face still on? |
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Sign your name with an X, mow the lawn |
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CHORUS |
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They'll introduce me, "Hello, hello" |
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Women seduce me and champagne flows |
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Then the lights go low |
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There's only one song I know |
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There, this home which once was serene, now is home to the screams |
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And to flying plates and shoes |
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But I have no souvenirs of these crackerjack years |
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Not a moment I could choose |
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And not one offer that I could refuse |
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CHORUS |
