The music rolls for hours
Like a shower in the Spring.
Sometimes good, sometimes ugly--
Like nightingales they sing.
And the owner chases women
If they're not on to his tricks,
You can sit outside on Sunday
At Rick's
Chorus:
And the girls strut by,
The peacocks call,
It's a mating dance for one and all.
We just sit and watch and smile.
So when your tan is finished
And your salty skin has dried,
Come around and join us
In the afternoon or night.
Listen to the music,
Or eat oysters-- take your pick.
You can sit outside on Sunday
At Ricks.