rose of washington square - remastered - aretha franklin lyrics
a garden that never knew sunshine
once sheltered a beautiful rose
in the shadows it grew, without sunlight or dew
as a child of the city grows
a b-tterfly flew to the garden
from out of the blue sky above
the heart of the rose set a flutter
with a wonderful tale of love
he told her of birds and of bees
of the brooks and the meadows and trees, he whisper’d
rose of washington square, a flower so
fair, should blossom where the sun shines
rose, for nature did not mean, that you should
blush unseen, but be the queen, of some fair garden
rose, i’ll never depart, but dwell in your
heart, your love to care, i’ll bring the
sunbeams from the heavens to you, and
give you kisses that sparkle with dew, my
rose of washington square
but after the summer comes autumn
when flowers their petals must close
for the songbirds are still and the breezes are chill
to the cheek of the blushing rose
the g-y b-tterfly’s wings are folded
the heart of the rose has grown cold
a b-tterfly lives but a season
and a rose in a week grows old
the meadows the brooks and the trees
like the birds and the flowers and bees, need sunshine
()
comedy version
she’s rosie, the queen of the models
she used to live up in the bronx
but she wander’d from there down to washington square
and bohemian honky tonks
one day she met harrison fisher
said he, “you’re like roses, the stems
i want you to pose for a picture
on the cover of ‘jim jam jems'”
and that’s how she first got her start
now her life is devoted to art, they call her
rose of washington square
she’s withering there
in bas-m-nt air she’s fading
pose in plain or fancy clothes
they say her roman nose
it seems to please, artistic people beaux
she’s plenty of those, with secondhand clothes
and nice long hair, she’s got those
broadway vampires lashed, to the mast
she’s got no future but oh! what a past, she’s
rose of washington square
she’s terrible good as a model
the artists are stuck on her charms
once a feller said he would paint venus from her
only venus ain’t got no arms
rube goldberg her figure admires
he dresses her up in a veil
and uses her shape for the pictures that
he draws in the ev’ning mail
he promised sometime when he’s free
that he’ll model a statue of she, they call her
()
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