he.
Hmm.
It.
And here's to you,
Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson,
heaven holds a place for those who pray.
Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey.
We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files.
We'd like to help you learn to help yourself.
Look around you,
all you see are sympathetic lines.
Until you feel at home.
And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson,
heaven holds a place for those who pray.
Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey.
Hiding in a hiding place where no one ever goes.
Deep in your pantry with your cupcakes.
It's a little secret, just a Robinson's affair.
Most of all,
you've got to hide it from the kids.
Coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson,
heaven holds a place for those who pray.
Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey.
Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon.
Vote to the candidates to date.
Laugh about it,
shout about it when you've got to choose.
Every way you look at it, you lose.
Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson?
Charter Joe has left and gone away.
Hey, hey, hey.