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My Friend, the Doctor
par
Bobby Darin
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Now any man who understands the Irish Well, they can't be reckoned altogether bad The same way that a lunatic Who's Patron Saint is Patrick Can't be reckoned altogether mad The Doctor's very smart He's an Irish man at heart His favourite colour sure It must be green And also he's a man Who, blimey, when he can Let me explain the sort of thing Let me explain the sort of thing I mean My friend the Doctor says The moon is made of apple pie And once a month it's eaten by the sun And that is why Up in the sky You'll find as every month goes by Somebody in the sky is making another one My friend the Doctor says The sun is made of cheddar cheese The Doctor even knows the reason why The facts are these Try if you please Pretend that you're a lonely cheese Wouldn't you want to try Finding an apple pie?
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