Lyrics
once upon a sofa stretching
while i sat there, idly kibetching
over many a lame and schmalty show
of television wreck
'till i made a wise decision and said
"enough with the television!"
when from my fire escape there flew a pigeon,
a pigeon! looking for a peck
'tis some flying shnora, surely, looking for some crumb to peck
only this! so, what the heck!
inside my lower east side dwelling
while up the streets some yups was yelling
for how long there was no telling
while this pigeon pranced about
'til perched upon my ice-box stewing
sat this bird, not even cooing
this pigeon, what does he think he's doing?
he's just a pain, right in my neck!
one claw, curled, like a ratner's rugaler!
beak faca, and feathers for schlugana.
"oi," i said, "this bird's mashuganer!"
flying right inside like this?
you see my walk-up's nothing fancy
what makes you do this thing so chancy?
shoo! fly back out to delancy!
unless, you care now, to discuss this?
what reason do you have for coming
if, you care now, to discuss this?
quoth the pigeon; "bupkis."
the pigeon's thinking, he won't touch me
but pigeon, i said, just you watch me!
and i reached out for some chotsky i might throw to bring me justice
what do i own to throw at you, to punish this injustice
quoth the pigeon; "bupkis."
schmuck! i said, thing of surrus!
flying rat, local or tourist,
my ice-box must hold something for us
to satisfy you and send you off to flap
some old leftover's leshco's locked up
or a bisle of moishous bobka
a montebal! a drop of vodka!
a leck and a schmeck, some little scrap
what nosh here can we please you with! instruct us!
quoth the pigeon; "bupkis."
so, turning off the jimmy kimmel,
i spawn a dradel, and scored a gimmel
and said, "let's go to yonnah schimmel"
surely there, at yonnah schimmel,
you can find a snack, or ten
we'll get some nice fresh knish
to make you fly away again
or zolshta stupena tuppa serin!
what's for you here! condoes sore
old skies you flapped through are no more
mom and pops you crapped on have closed the store
and city court won't take your dreck
so wasn't gained, old days gone by
nest now, the bronx, or bedford stuy
slip off, east side schemozzle bird!
to plushin, or to littleneck
gabobbidy bobson, diabeck!
but the pigeon, i ain't kiddin'
still is sittin', still is sitting, sometimes on the counter shittin'
staring beak first at the fridge
his eyes have all the hutsbah of a macher
struts around and treats me like a puts
oh this masugar hoftoid pidge!
so we stay here, two old east side klutzes
i'm still fussing, he still futzes
me and this cockwackle pidge
we'll be happy with what life has unbeshtucked us