Santa Fe
New York City (uh huh)
Center of the universe (sing it girl)
Times are shitty
But I'm pretty sure they can't get worse (I hear ya)
It's a comfort to know
When you're singing the hit the road blues
That anywhere else you could possibly go
After New York would be, a pleasure cruise
Now you're talking
Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle
And I'm sick of grading papers that are low
I'm shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
All this misery pays no salary, so
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Sunny Santa Fe would be nice
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And leave this to the roaches and mice
Oh, oh, oh, whoa
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
(You teach?) I teach, computer age philosophy
But my students would rather watch TV (America, America)
You're a sensitive aesthete
Brush the sauce onto the meat
You can make the menu sparkle with rhyme
You can drum a gentle drum
And I could seat guests as they come
Chatting not about Heidegger but wine
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe (Santa Fe)
Our labors would reap financial gains (gains-gains-gains)
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And save from devastation our brains
We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away
Devote ourselves to projects that sell
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Forget this cold Bohemian Hell
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
Whoa-whoa oh, oh
Whoa
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
Whoa-whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Do you know the way to Santa Fe?
You know? Tumbleweeds, prairie dogs, yeah
Center of the universe (sing it girl)
Times are shitty
But I'm pretty sure they can't get worse (I hear ya)
It's a comfort to know
When you're singing the hit the road blues
That anywhere else you could possibly go
After New York would be, a pleasure cruise
Now you're talking
Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle
And I'm sick of grading papers that are low
I'm shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
All this misery pays no salary, so
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Sunny Santa Fe would be nice
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And leave this to the roaches and mice
Oh, oh, oh, whoa
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
(You teach?) I teach, computer age philosophy
But my students would rather watch TV (America, America)
You're a sensitive aesthete
Brush the sauce onto the meat
You can make the menu sparkle with rhyme
You can drum a gentle drum
And I could seat guests as they come
Chatting not about Heidegger but wine
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe (Santa Fe)
Our labors would reap financial gains (gains-gains-gains)
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And save from devastation our brains
We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away
Devote ourselves to projects that sell
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Forget this cold Bohemian Hell
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
Whoa-whoa oh, oh
Whoa
Whoa, oh, oh, oh
Whoa-whoa oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Do you know the way to Santa Fe?
You know? Tumbleweeds, prairie dogs, yeah
Credits
Writer(s): Jonathan D. Larson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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