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 lass
In Boston, Mass.
From passion will recoil.
In Dallas, Tex.
They talk of sex
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.