Pocketful of Harlem Dreams

Spoken like a man of means, Pocketful of Harlem dreams
Kinks inside the armor, cool effecting his disarming
Of a certain Satin Doll, as stubborn as the days were long
Hot, the humid weather, melts the science she’s pretending

Time and again
Somebody is going to hit their head
Losing the thread
It’s the same ole song

Dangerous and Debonair, Call the Devil, he may care
No stranger to friction, an imposter for a living
Following a nightingale, enchanting the n’ere do well
No one saw it coming, his undoing by her charming

Time and again
Somebody is going to hit their head
Losing the thread
It’s the same ole song

(Last X)
Dangerous and Debonair
Call the Devil, he may care
No stranger to friction, an imposter for a living
Following a nightingale, enchanting the n’ere do well
No one saw it coming, his undoing by her charming self composure,
and the feeling that it’s over

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