Lyrics
Okay, Nick you're now inside a
Secret small apartment up in Sugarhill
My sister Myrtle said you were a ten
You're a four
When Tom and Myrtle got here
They went straight into the bedroom
And they're in there still
These are the McKees
They like to watch
So I'm stuck makin' small talk
While they ---- a few feet away
Smilin' at strangers
Who all look at me like I'm their prey
I close my eyes but all I see
Is the glowing face of Daisy Fay
Mr. McKee has taken two hundred and twenty seven photographs of me
Two-twenty-eight
I never should have come here
As my palms begin to sweat
I need a dose of culture
And I need a cigarette
Oh, they really
Should've dropped me
At The Met
I'm not drinkin'
I'm not drinkin' alone
Love the dress
Love
This crazy old thing?
I just slip it on when I don't really care what I look like
The tag's still on it
I said just one drink but if I lowball it I'm guessin'
This is number three
Bedroom's free if you wanna shake the sheets with Catherine
All that I can think of is that ill-considered favor
Gatsby asked of me
In the bedroom lighting, I'm an eight
When I got here
I should've said I wouldn't be stayin' long
Everyone is flirtin' now
And they're all comin' on too strong
At least the Midwest blessed me
With a stellar sense of right and wrong
Mrs. McKee and I have an open relationship
She has sex with other people, and I'm open to it
I need a cup of coffee
As the sun begins to set
They sang "Ain't We Got Fun?" so loud
It's sounding like a threat
Oh, they really
Should've dropped me
At The Met
Jay Gatsby? The millionaire on Long Island? He's a five
But would you go to tea with him?
No, but only because tea makes me vomit
I'd love to do more work on Long Island, if I could gain entry
People disappear and reappear
And then they lose each other in the fray
Do you like polo ponies?
Tom
They search for each other
And are reunited only a few feet away
That's my sister
Oh, relax, Myrtle
There's a flash and a crash
Over the oversized furniture
I look around for Catherine
And I find that I'm on top of her
And all of this is captured
By the greedy-eyed photographer
I want to capture your musk
Who stalks me like a vulture
Here's a night I'll soon regret
She's got another bottle
So this isn't over yet
Oh, they really
Should've dropped me
At The Met
Don't you treat me that way
Don't you flirt with my sister (cool it, Myrtle)
Would you do that to Daisy, huh?
You don't mention Daisy
Oh, why not
You take shots at George every chance you can get, but Daisy is off limits?
I'm warning you
Myrtle
Daisy, Daisy, Daisy
I'll say it whenever I want
Daisy
You broke my nose
You broke my nose
You broke my sister's nose
It was an accident
Don't touch her
Don't you touch me, I'll call the cops
If I wondered whether Tom's an asshole
Tom's an asshole, he removed all doubt
And Gatsby's proposition is the only thing
My spinning mind can think about
I just sink in a sofa as the night grows more dim
God, what a coward
Should have torn the bastard limb from limb
But maybe there's another way
That I can still get back at him
Yes
Please connect me with Jay Gatsby
WRITERS
Jason Howland, Nathan P Tysen
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC
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