Well, I don't care care to eat out in smart restaurants.
I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take-away is what I want.
I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat,
When I saw her framed in the kitchen door--she looked good enough to eat (and I mean eat).

She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl.

She said, "Whose is this carry-out?" My face turned chili-red.
Well, I don't know about carrying out, but you can carry me off to bed (and I mean bed).

She was a tall thin girl. She moved like a tall thin girl.
Maybe I can fetch for it, or maybe I can stretch for it.

I may not be a fat man, and I'm not exactly small,
But when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground:
This girl was tall (and I mean tall).

Big boy Doane, he's a drummer, don't play no tambourine,
But he's Madras hot on the bongo trot, if you know just what I mean.
Stands six foot three in his underwear; going to get him down here and see
If this good lady's got a little sister 'bout the same size as me.

She was a tall thin girl. She looked like a tall thin girl.
Well, can I fetch for it? Well, maybe I can stretch for it?
Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?

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