| Snow is falling in Manhattan
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| In a slow diagonal fashion
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| On the Sabbath, as it happens
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| Snow is falling in Manhattan
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| If it looks like it might be a bad one
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| The good caretaker springs to action
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| Salts the stoop and scoops the cat in
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| Tests an icy patch for traction
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| Snow
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| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
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| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
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| Snow, oh, whoa
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| Snow, oh, whoa
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| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
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| Levels rising on the island
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| Shows no sign of soon subsiding
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| Drifting deeply down in Brooklyn
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| So much joy in merely looking
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| Inside he’s got a fire crackling
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| And on the couch, beneath an afghan
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| Lies an old friend he just took in
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| Seeking shelter from the cold wind
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| Coming down in smithereens
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| On Staten Island, Bronx and Queens
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| It’s blanketing the city streets
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| And the streets beneath are fast asleep
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| Songs build little rooms in time
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| And housed within the song’s design
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| Is the ghost the host has left behind
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| To greet and sweep the guest inside
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| Stoke the fire and sing his lines
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| Snow
|
| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
|
| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
|
| Snow, oh, whoa
|
| Snow, oh, whoa
|
| Snow, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa
|
| Snow is falling in Manhattan
|
| Inside I’ve got a fire crackling
|
| And on the couch, beneath an afghan
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| You’re the old friend I just took in |