Girls:
Tell us, sailor,
Tell us, please,
For we're terribly keen to know
What it's like to be fancy free
Footloose on the rolling sea?
China girl chop-chop,
Gay Maltese,
Hot Mommas from Mexico-
Harry:
If you'll forgive a crude remark
And don't resent a rude remark
I'll let you into a secret-
Girls:
Well?
Harry:
They're all alike in the dark!
Girls:
There must have been
Some place you've seen
Superior to the rest?
Harry:
As a matter of fact
With political tact
I like America best.
Girls:
There's a good time a-comin on de ole plantation
For a jolly Jack Tar
Has just confessed
The he likes America best!
Verse 1
Harry:
I don't care for China,
Japan's far too small,
I've rumbled the Rio Grande,
I hate Asia Minor,
I can't bear Bengal
And I shudder to think
Of the awful stink
On the road to Samarkand.
Harry:
I like America,
I have played around
Every slappy-happy hunting ground
But I find America-okay.
I've been about a bit
But I must admit
That I didn't know the half of it
Till I hit the U.S.A.
No likely la**
In Boston, Ma**.
From pa**ion will recoil.
In Dallas, Tex.
They talk of s**
But only think of oil.
New Jersey dames
Go up in flames
If someone mentions-bed.
In Chicago, Illinois
Any girl who meets a boy
Giggles and shoots him dead!
But I like America
Its Society
Offers infinite variety
And come what may
I shall return some day
To the good old U.S.A.
Verse 2
Harry:
I've loathed every acre
From Cannes to Canton,
I also deplore Bombay,
I've jeered at Jamaica
And seen through Ceylon,
And exploded the myth
Of those Flying Fith
On the Road to Mandalay.
Girls:
We'll never mith
Those blasted fith
On the road to Mandalay.
Harry:
But I like America,
I have traveled far
From Northumberland to Zanzibar
And I find America-okay.
I've roamed the Spanish Main
Eaten sugar-cane
But I never tasted cellophane
Till I struck the U.S.A.
All delegates
From Southern States
Are nervy and distraught.
In New Orleans
The wrought-iron screens
Are dreadfully overwrought.
Beneath each tree
In Tennessee
Erotic books are read.
And when alligators thud
Through the Mississippi mud
Sex rears its ugly head.
But-I like America,
Every scrap of it,
All the sentimental crap of it
And come what may
Give me a holiday
In the good old U.S.A.