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'Round To Mary Ann's
Sunday night in our town,
Sunday night in yours —
Nothing to do on the inside,
Nothing to do outdoors.
Even close the movies as soon as it gets dark,
And kick the couples from off the stoop
And then close up the park.
But there's one place you always find your way—
And just as soon as the drug store's closed,
You'll hear somebody say: Oh,
Let's all go around to Mary Ann's
And tickle a tune upon the pianola.
There's something nice always on the ice,
And you don't have to ask her twice
To drink a coca-cola.
Her front door is never known to lock,
It's always standing open and you never have to knock.
For many a man, our Mary Ann has put his watch in hock.
We won't be home until morning —
'Round to Mary Ann's . . .
Back in ancient Egypt,
Cleo was on the throne,
She wanted to see her Anthony,
She rang him on the 'phone.
Then this brave old Roman
Cranked up his limousine,
He rattled along and quickly stopped —
He was out of gasoline! And, as he cursed
And wished that he were dead,
A bellhop brought him a telegram
Which, when de-coded read: Oh,
Let's all go around to Mary Ann's
And tickle a tune upon the pianola.
There is something nice always on the ice.
And you don't have to ask her twice
To drink a coca-cola.
Her front door is never known to lock,
It's always standing open and you never have to knock.
For many a man, our Mary Ann has put his watch in hock.
We won't be home until morning —
'Round to Mary Ann's.
'Round to Mary Ann's.
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