There is a rose in Spanish Harlem,
a rose in black and Spanish Harlem.
It is a special one,
it never sees the sun
it only comes out
when the moon is on the run
and all the stars are gleaming.
It's growing in the street
right up through the concrete
soft, sweet and dreaming.
With eyes as black as coal
they look down in my soul a
and start a fire there
and then I lose control
I want to beg her pardon
I'm going to pick that rose
and watch her as she grows in my garden.
It is a special one, it never sees the sun
it only comes out when the moon is on the run and all the stars are gleaming.
It's growing in the street right up through the concrete soft, sweet and dreaming.
With eyes as black as coal they look down in my soul
and start a fire there and then I lose control
I want to beg her pardon I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.
