When you spit from the twenty sixth floor
And it floats on the breeze to the ground
Does it fall upon hats
Or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?
I used to think life as a bore
But I don’t feel that way anymore
As I count up the hits
As I smile as I sit
As I spit from the twenty sixth floor
And it floats on the breeze to the ground
Does it fall upon hats
Or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?
I used to think life as a bore
But I don’t feel that way anymore
As I count up the hits
As I smile as I sit
As I spit from the twenty sixth floor
Shel Silverstein
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