Lyrics

Once upon a sofa stretching, while I sat there, idly kvetching Over many a lame and schmaltzy show of television dreck— 'Til I made a wise decision and said, Enough with the television! When from my fire escape there flew a Pigeon, a Pigeon looking for a peck 'Tis some flying schnorrer surely, looking for some crumb to peck— Only this, so what the heck! Inside my Lower East Side dwelling, while up the street some yutz was yelling For how long there was no telling, while this Pigeon pranced about 'Til perched upon my icebox, stewing, sat this bird, not even cooing This pigeon, what does he think he's doing? He's just a pain right in my neck! One claw curled like a Ratner's rugelach, with beak verkakt and feathers verschlungene Oy, I said, This bird's meshugena, flying right inside like this! You see my walk-up's nothing fancy, what makes you do this thing so chancey? Shoo! Fly back out to Delancey, unless you care now to discuss this— What reason do you have for coming, if you care now to discuss this? Quoth the Pigeon "Bupkes" The Pigeon thinking, He won't touch me But Pigeon, I said, just you watch me! And I reached out for some tshotshke I might throw to bring me justice What do I own to throw at you, to punish this injustice? Quoth the Pigeon "Bupkes" Schmuck, I said, thing of tsuris! Flying rat, local or tourist! My icebox must hold something for us to satisfy you and send you off to flap Some old leftover Leshko's latke? Or a bissele Moishe's babka? A matzo ball, a drop of vodka, a lech and a shmeck, some little scrap What nosh here can we please you with? Instruct us! Quoth the Pigeon "Bupkes" So turning off the Jimmy Kimmel, I spun a dreidel and scored a gimel And said, Let's go to Yonah Schimmel! Surely there at Yonah Schimmel you can find a snack or ten We'll get you some nice fresh knish to make you fly away again Or zolst du shtuppen in tuchus arin! 'Cause what's for you here? Condos soar, old skies you flapped through are no more Mom and Pops you crapped have on closed the store And City Court won't take your dreck— So losn gayn old days gone by, nest now the Bronx or Bedford-Stuy Schlep off, East Side schlimazel bird! To Flushing or to Little Neck Gey baren di vantsen! Gey avek! But the Pigeon, I ain't kidding, still is sitting, still is sitting Sometimes on the counter shitting, staring beak-first at the fridge And his eyes have all the chutzpah of a macher As he struts around and treats me like a putz— Ah, this meshuge af toyt pidge! So we stay here, two old East Side klutzes I'm still fussing, he still futzes, me and this kochleffel pidge And we'll be happy with what life has ungeshtupt us: Bupkes