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And the taxi fades away. My poor, tired feet. |
| I cannot count syllables! So, roughly, this is supposed to be to the tune of ON TOP OF OLD SMOKEY ... with due and undue apologies to all concerned! On this side of fifty, With hair white like snow I lost my dear taxi For running too slow. Now shopping's a pleasure But hard on the feet And to catch that dear taxi I had youngsters to beat. Let the cab go, love Let the cab go Those youngsters run faster Just let the cab go. A cab will just drop you To that big old mall But sprinting at your age Will end in a fall. So let the cab go, love Let the cab go Those youngsters run faster Just let the cab go! |