If I was meant to eat and love anchovies, Jerry Herman would have included them in this lyric:
Pâté de foie gras,
Thursday's gardenias, ribbons and orange rinds.
A volume of Chaucer bound in Marocco,
Lilies and coffee grinds.
The pit of a peach, the stem of a cherry floating in pink champagne.
There was a time when garbage was a pleasure,
When you found the sound of Good and Plenty gurgling in your drain.
The world was all ginger and lime.
The world was the rustle of silk, purple and puce, crystal and lace,
Fresh orange juice, ginger and lime.
The shell of a clam, the claw of a lobster.
Hairpins and choc'late mousse.
A page of Othello, gilt at the edges.
Daisies and Charlotte Russe.
A rose and a fan, a piece of pimento floating in turquoise ink.
There was a time when garbage was a pleasure,
When you found the joy of gracious living underneath your sink.
The world was all ginger and lime.
The world was the rustle of silk, purple and puce, crystal and lace,
Fresh orange juice, ginger and lime.
Pâté de foie gras,
Thursday's gardenias, ribbons and orange rinds.
A volume of Chaucer bound in Marocco,
Lilies and coffee grinds.
The pit of a peach, the stem of a cherry floating in pink champagne.
There was a time when garbage was a pleasure,
When you found the sound of Good and Plenty gurgling in your drain.
Fa la la la.
Garbage was a pleasure.
Fa la la la.
Garbage, fa la la.
Garbage, fa la la.
Garbage, fa la la!
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