Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Lyrics to Love: Native New Yorker By Odyssey

Runnin' pretty, New York City girl
Twenty-five, thirty-five
Hello, baby, New York City girl

You grew up ridin' the subways, running with people
Up in Harlem, down on Broadway
You're no tramp, but you're no lady, talkin' that street talk
You're the heart and soul of New York City

And love, love is just a passing word
It's the thought that you had in a taxi cab that got left on the curb
When he dropped you off at east 83rd

Oh, oh, oh [Oh, oh, oh]
You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now [You should know by now]
You're a native New Yorker

New York girl, ooh, ooh, ooh

Music plays, everyone's dancin' closer and closer
Makin' friends and findin' lovers
There you are lost in the shadows, searchin' for someone [Searchin' for
someone]
To set you free from New York City

And, whoa, where did all those yesterdays go
When you still believed love could really be like a Broadway show
You were the star, when did it close?

Oh, oh, oh [Oh, oh, oh]
You're a native New Yorker
No one opens the door
For a native New Yorker

[Runnin' pretty, New York City girl]
Ooh...ooh...ooh...
Native, native, native New Yorker

Where did all those yesterdays go
When you still believed love could really be like a Broadway show
You are the star

You're a native New Yorker
You should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker

You should know the score, you should know the score by now
You're a native New Yorker, oh, oh, oh
[Native, native, native new Yorker]
You're a native New Yorker

Whoa, oh, ho, ho, you're a native New Yorker
You should know the score
[Native, native, native new Yorker]
You're a native New Yorker

What you waitin' for, no one opens the door
[You're a native New Yorker]
For a native, for a native New Yorker




***************

What else can I say? It's my theme song. I'm the native New Yorker being dropped off on East 83rd, talking street talk, makin' friends and findin' lovers. Every time I hear that song I'm transported to my grandmother's apartment on Patchen Avenue, me and Minerva listening to LP's, singing along like our lives depended on it. See we weren't allowed to play outside, and whenever there was nothing good on TV, we would throw on the records and let our imaginations take over. I still do it today.

It's the only way I know how to write.

*smooches...turning the speakers way up*
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tell me this ain't the jam and I'll call you a DAMN liar.