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Ode to Adam Kuban

"New York City Flat-Top Stove"

In a little cafe in the Astoria border town,
Sat a boy and his kitchen stove, and the people came from all around.
And all the girls from there to Jersey,
Were slippin' away from home and puttin' jewelery in hock.
To take the trip, to go and dine-in,
To the little scruffy-bearded man who played the New York City flat top stove.

And he would filet: [Instrumental]

Well, he couldn't ride or wrangle, and he never cared to make a dime.
But give him his kitchen stove, and he'd be happy all the time.
And all the girls from nine to ninety,
Were ordering wine, eating much, and begging him: "Don't stop sautéing."
And hypnotized and fascinated,
By the little scruffy-bearded man who played the New York City flat top stove.

And he would filet: [Instrumental]

Then one day he was gone, and no one ever saw him 'round,
He'd vanished like the breeze, they forgot him in the little town.
But all the girls still dreamed about his food.
And hung around the cafe until the doors were locked.
And then one day on the Zagat's Hit Parade,
Was a little scruffy-bearded man who played the New York City flat top stove.

And he would filet: [Instrumental]


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