Sunday in the Park With George

More boat
More trees

I thought you were drawing me. George? Hello, George? There is someone in this dress!

A trickle of sweat
The back of the head
He always does this
Now the foot is dead
Sunday in the park with George
One more Su-

The collar is damp
Beginning to pinch
The bustle's slipping
I won't budge one inch

Who was at the zoo, George?
Who was at the zoo?
The monkeys and who, George?
The monkeys and who?

Don't move!

Artists are bizarre- fixed, cold
That's you, George, you're bizarre- fixed, cold
I like that in a man- fixed, cold
God, it's hot out here

Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
Being painted by your lover
In the middle of the summer
On an island in the river on a Sunday

The petticoat's wet
Which adds to the weight
The sun is blinding
All right, concentrate

Eyes open, please

Sunday in the park with George

Look out at the water
Not at me

Sunday in the park with George
Concentrate, concentrate

Well, if you went bread
And respect and attention
Not to say connection
Modelling's no profession
If you want, instead
When you're dead
Some more public
And more permanent
Expression
Of affection
You want a painter
Poet
Sculptor, preferably
Marble, granite, bronze
Durable
Something nice with swans
That's durable
Forever
All it has to be is good
And George, you're good
You're really good

George's stroke is tender
George's touch is pure

Your eyes, George
I love your eyes, George
I love your beard, George
I love your size, George
But most, George
Of all
But most of all
I love your painting
I think I'm fainting

The tip of a stay
Right under the tit
No don't give in, just
Lift the arm a bit

Don't lift the arm

Sunday in the park with George

Bustle high, please

Not even a nod
As if I were trees
The ground could open
He would still say "please"

Never know with you, George
Who could know with you?
The others I knew, George
Before we get through
I'll get to you, too
God, I am so hot!

Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
After sleeping on the ferry
After getting up at seven
To came over to an island
In the middle of a river
Half an hour from the city
On a Sunday
On a Sunday in the park with

Don't move the mouth

George