I can't see myself singing the same song twice in a row. That's terrible.

I've never been able to understand the seriousness of it all, the seriousness of pride. People talk, act, live as if they're never going to die. And what do they leave behind? Nothing. Nothing but a mask.

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and then they make you king.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.

In the valley of the giants where the stars and stripes explode, the peaches they were sweet and the milk and honey flowed.

You've got a lotta nerve to say you are my friend. When I was down you just stood there a grinin

Patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.