What do I hear, what do I hear?
Chit-chat, and clinking glass
Cheap talk, a lady s laugh
After hours
What do I see, what do I see?
Some sunken hideaway
Where people go to play
After hours
There I ll spend the night
Meeting fancy things
At bistros and old haunts
Trying very hard to
sin
Then it is day end in a way
The pattern s much the same
In-spots, a matinee
Every day
Blend with the crowd, blend with the loud
Hypnotic ebb and flow
Until the day goes slowly
Into night
See the same old crowd
At bistros and old haunts
Til the lights grow dim,
The not-so-subtle hint to be
gone
Chorus:
Thank God it s not Christmas
When there is
only you, and nothing else to do
Thank God it s not Christmas
Where there s just
you to do. The rest is closed to public
view
Caroling kids, caroling kids
A trifle premature,
in tones so rich and pure and
crystalline
Call for the day, the popular day
It s fast approaching now
But will the mood allow
One dissent
If this were the Seine
We d be very suave
But it s just the rain washing down the
boulevard
[Chorus]
Popular days, the popular ways
Are for the chosen few
Not meant for me and you
Obviously
Popular nights, poplar rites
Great things to say and do
Aren t said or done by you
Obviously
If this were Seine
We d be very suave
But it s just the rain washing down the
boulevard
