There is a rose in Spanish Harlem. A red rose up in Spanish Harlem.
It is a special one. It's never seen the sun. It only comes out when the moon is on the run. And all the stars are gleaming.
It's growing in the street, right up through the concrete. So soft and sweet and gleaming.
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem. A red rose up in Spanish Harlem.
With eyes as black as coal that looks down in my soul. It starts a fire burning, then I lose control. I have to beg your pardon.
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.
I'm going to pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden.