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Charlotte Church - The Laughing Song lyrics
My dear Marquis Why must you be So loathe to use your eyes When you stop and stare Take a lot more care And closely scrutinise My fingers, my ankles, my feet Ha ha ha ha ha How shapely and trim and petite Ha ha ha ha ha Both accent and inflection show polish to perfection Such graces are the traces of our old elite Such graces are the traces of our old elite I marvel how a man like you Could fail to see my blood was blue What a gorgeous, ha ha ha Situation, ha ha ha What a startling, ha ha ha Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha What a friendly, ha ha ha Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaa Ahhhh aaahhhhhh Marquis, oh, what a wag you are Profiles they say Give the game away When formed with classic grace If the head on view Isn't much to you Then look at me side-face What evidence more can there be, ha ha ha ha ha I sing at soirees without fee, ha ha ha ha ha ha Bestowing my attention With lofty condescension Such graces are the traces of a pedigree Such graces are the traces of a pedigree All's one to you, though I'm afraid Because you love a parlour maid What a friendly, ha ha ha Situation, ha ha ha What a startling, ha ha ha Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha What a friendly, ha ha ha Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaaa Ahhhh aaahhhhhh ahhh aaahhh aahhh Ahhhhh aaaaahhhhhh aaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhaaaa ahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhh aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh |
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 Christmas Fantasy by Anita Baker |
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 Ghetto Classics by Jaheim |
