Mad about the boy,
I know it’s stupid to be mad about the boy,
I’m so ashamed of it, but must admit
The sleepless nights I’ve had about the boy.
On the silver screen,
He melts my foolish heart in ev’ry single scene,
Although I’m quite aware that here and there,
Are traces of a cad about the boy.
Lord knows I’m not a fool girl,
I really shouldn’t care.
Lord knows I’m not a schoolgirl,
In the flurry of her first affair.
Will it ever cloy?
This odd diversity of misery and joy.
I’m feeling quite insane and young again
And all because I’m mad about the boy.