I was born yesterday And I believe all that you say I have no choice I must obey You Is this the first or the second day Of the rest of my life Well, hey! Why should I care Either way If what you say is true? Saturday morning Eighteenth of December I cannot remember the last time that I saw Such a young ballerina In love with the loveless In tune with a tuneless old upright piano Standing on point Going through each position With gentle precision She measures each movement Her classical features and elegant waistline Are going to waste while she pleases her parents I I was born yesterday And I believe all that you say I have no choice I must obey You I have a question: Is this the first or the second day Of the rest of my life Well, hey, hey! Why should I care Either way If what you say is true? What if they die on the road to Rathmines Where a dog in two minds times his run to perfection An orphan at last, she'd be sick in the loo bowl Then go to the funeral And cry by the graveside And then sleep with the first man she sees And she'd catch some disease that she'd give to her doctor She'd cook her own breakfast, and she'd cook his as well And both get on swell, even though he was married You are a part of me I am a part of you Why should I let you walk All over me?
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