Thank God It's Not Christmas

What do I hear, what do I hear? Chit-chat, and clinking glass Cheap talk, a lady's laugh After hours What do I see, what do I see? Some sunken hideaway Where people go to play After hours There I'll spend the night Meeting fancy things At bistros and old haunts Trying very hard to sin Then it is day and in a way The pattern's much the same In-spots, a matinee Everyday Blend with the crowd, blend with the loud Hypnotic ebb and flow Until the day goes slowly Into night See the same old crowd At bistros and old haunts 'Til the lights grow dim, The not-so-subtle hint to be gone Thank God it's not Christmas When there is only you And nothing else to do Thank God it's not Christmas Where there's just you to do The rest is closed to public view Caroling kids, caroling kids A trifle premature, in tones so rich and pure And crystalline Call for the day, the popular day It's fast approaching now But will the mood allow One dissent If this were the Seine We'd be very suave But it's just the rain Washing down the boulevard Popular days, the popular ways Are for the chosen few Not meant for me and you Obviously Popular nights, poplar rites Great things to say and do Aren't said or done by you Obviously If this were Seine We'd be very suave But it's just the rain Washing down the boulevard