Postcard
Song
It was written to Lisa, it was signed Yvette,
a postcard with a picture of Budapest, somehow it ended
up at my front door
though it clearly wasn't me it was intended for,
do not return to sender, i'll pretend sir it was meant for
me
she had a lovely time on the continent,
the time passed by so fast she wonders where it went
she and Fred are fine though at time's it's hard
Lisa, she was wondering how to play her cards
do not return to sender, i'll pretend sir it was meant for
me
Lisa, my dear, wherever you may be
Yvette had a time in the gay Paris
wishing you'd been there to sip some French champagne
i ought not to have read it i do confess
but i had nowhere to send it, no new address
i guess i's just so starved for a bit of news
i was in no position to pick or choose
it was clearly my agenda to pretend sir it was meant for
me
and i'm saving that card for the unlikely day
that whoever Lisa is she might come back this way
but for now it's my agenda to pretend sir it was meant for
me
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