Places to see, but no one to go with,
A beautiful lake, but no one to row with,
A growing young man, but no one to grow with---
I'm sick of feeding pigeons.

Friends who have girls have boasted and boasted,
But I've all this bread and no one to toast it---
These pigeons are nice, but nicer when roasted;
I'm sick of feeding pigeons.

I don't know where that rainbow's end is,
And pots filled with gold seem absurd;
I've no idea who man's best friend is,
But God knows it isn't a bird.

Where is the girl who'll come and say,
"I'm here, my love, I'm here to stay"?
Pigeons on the grass,
Alas, alas,
I'm sick of feeding you all day.