Composer : Leonard Bernstein

Hoy-oy-oy-oy-oy!

Quiet.

No doubt you'll think I'm giving in

To petulance and malice,

But in candor I am forced to say

That I'm sick of gracious living in

This stuffy little palace

And I wish that I could leave today.

I have suffered a lot

And I'm certainly not

Unaware that this life has its black side.

I have starved in a ditch,

I've been burned for a witch,

And I'm missing the half of my backside.

I've been beaten and whipped

And repeatedly stripped,

I've been forced into all kinds of whoredom;

But I'm finding of late

That the very worst fate

Is to perish of comfort and BOREDOM.

Quiet.

It was three years ago,

As you very well know,

That you said we would soon have a wedding;

Every day you forget

What you promised, and yet

You continue to rumple my bedding.

I'll no longer bring shame

On my family name,

I had rather lie down and be buried;

No, I'll not lead the life

Of an unwedded wife:

Tell me, when are we going to be MARRIED?

Quiet.

I was once, what is more,

Nearly sawed in four

By a specially clumsy magician;

And you'd think I would feel

After such an ordeal

That there's charm in my present position.

But I'd far rather be

In a tempest at sea,

Or a bloody North African riot,

Than to sit in this dump

On what's left of my rump

And put up with this terrible QUIET

Comfort and boredom and QUIET

When are we going to be MARRIED?

When are we going to be...

Quiet!