Mona Lisas And Mad Hatters

And now I know Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say I thought I knew But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City Until you've seen this trash can dream come true You stand at the edge while people run you through And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you I thank the Lord there's people out there like you While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers Turn around and say good morning to the night For unless they see the sky But they can't and that is why They know not if it's dark outside or light This Broadway's got It's got a lot of songs to sing If I knew the tunes I might join in I'll go my way alone Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City Subway's no way for a good man to go down Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown And I thank the Lord for the people I have found I thank the Lord for the people I have found