Vocals: Ruth Etting
Songwriting: Berlin
Take a look at the flower in my buttonhole
Take a look say and ask me why it’s there
Can’t you see that I’m all dressed up to take a stroll?
Can’t you tell that there’s something in the air?
I’ve got a date, can hardly wait
I’d like to bet she won’t be late
Here she comes, come on and meet
A hundred pounds of what is mighty sweet
And it all belongs to me
Flashing eyes and how they roll
A disposition like a sugar bowl
And it all belongs to me
That pretty baby face
That bunch of style and grace
Should be in Tiff’ny’s window in a platinum jewel case
Hey there, you
You’ll get in dutch
I’ll let you look but then you mustn’t touch
For it all belongs to me
Here she comes, come on and meet
A hundred pounds of what is mighty sweet
And it all belongs to me
Rosy cheeks, red hot lips
And polished nails upon her fingertips
And it all belongs to me
Those lips that I desire are like electric wire
She kissed a tree last summer ooo she started a forest fire
I’m in love with what she’s got
And what she’s got, she’s got an awful lot
And it all belongs to me
A million dollars worth of flying hips
“She kissed a tree last summer ooo she started a forest fire”: Having lips that were so hot they burned was a common statement in music of the era!