Your little Harlem Flat
To steal your high top hat.
At last, when the lollypop juice was all gone, and the grasshopper orchestra tired of playing, somebody called on Uncle Lucky for a song.
“My dear old wedding hat
I’ve worn for forty year.
I’ve smiled and laughed beneath its brim
And sometimes shed a tear.
But, oh, it hardly seems to me
It was way back in ’63
I wore it on my wedding day,