Lyrics Sunday in the Park with George - Mandy Patinkin , Bernadette Peters

George,
Why is it you always get to sit in the shade
While I have to stand in the sun
Hello, George
There is someone in this dress

A trickle of sweat
The back of the head
He always does this
Now the foot is dead
Sunday in the park with George
One more Su-

The collar is damp
Beginning to pinch
The bustle's slipping
I won't budge one inch
Who was at the zoo George
Who was at the zoo
The monkeys and who George
The monkeys and who

Don't move

Artists are bizarre, fixed, cold
That's you, George
You're bizarre, fixed cold
I like that in a man
Fixed, cold
God, it's hot up here

Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
Being painted by your lover
In the middle of the summer
On an island in the river on a Sunday

The petticoat's wet
Which adds to the weight
The sun is blinding
All right, concentrate

Eyes open please

Sunday in the park with George

Look out at the water, not at me

Sunday in the park with George
Well, if you want bread
And respect
And attention
Not to say connection
Modeling's no profession
If you want instead when you're dead
Some more public and more permanent expression
Of affection
You want a painter, poet, sculptor preferably
Marble, granite, bronze
Durable
Something nice with swans
That's durable forever
All it has to be is good
And George, you're good
You're really good
George's stroke is tender
George's touch is pure
Your eyes, George
I love your eyes, George
I love your beard, George
I love your size, George
But most, George, of all
But most of all
I love your painting
I think I'm fainting

The tip of a stay
Right under the tit
No, don't give in
Just lift the arm a bit

Don't life the arm, please

Sunday in the park with George

The bustle high, please

Not even a nod
As if I were trees
The ground could open
He would still say "please"
Never know with you George
Who could know with you
The others I knew George
Before we get through
I'll get to you too
God I am so hot

Well, there are worse things
Than staring at the water on a Sunday
There are worse things
Than staring at the water
As you're posing for a picture
After sleeping on the ferry
After getting up at seven
To come over to an island
In the middle of a river
Half an hour from the city
On a Sunday
On a Sunday in the park with...

Don't move the mouth

George