Every time I hear that
dear old wedding march
I feel rather glad I have a broken arch
I have heard a lot of
married people talk
And I know that marriage is a long,
long walk
To most people wed
dings mean romance
But I prefer a picnic or a dance
Another bride, another groom,
another sunny, honeymoon,
another season,
another reason for making
whoopee.
The choir sings,
here comes the bride,
another victim is by her side,
he's lost his reason,
Cause it's the season for making
a woman.
Down through the countless ages,
you'll find it everywhere.
Somebody makes good wages,
somebody wants her share.
She calls them toodles,
and rolls her eyes.
She makes some strudels,
and makes some pies,
What is it all for, if it's all he'll fall for?
Another year,
or maybe less,
What's this I hear,
or can't you guess?
She feels neglected
an d he is suspected of
making whoopee.
She sits alone most every night,
he doesn't phone or even write.
He says he's busy,
but she says Izzy is making
a whoopee.
He doesn't make much money,
five thousand dollars per.
Some judge who thinks he's funny
says you'll pay six to her.
He says, now judge, suppose I fail?
The judge says, budge, right into jail.
You'd better keep her,
you'll find it's cheaper
than making a whoopee.