The Hustling, Bustling, Busy Streets of HarlemWhere I was born and reared in povertyThe tenement house where I livedWas old and shabby and mighty run downBut I got to get away from its sweet embraceHarlem, I love you soBut there's one more thing I want you to knowI'll miss the game of stickball that the children playAs they run and romp and scamper right in old Harlem's wayI'll miss the peddler's cry, stop that boyHe stole an apple from my carBut I don't wanna, no, no, noLeave this place far behind meBut if I don't, all my hopes and dreams will dieOh, Harlem, I love you
