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Spanish Harlem
by
Jon Secada
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There's a rose in Black and Spanish Harlem A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem It is a special one, it never sees the sun It only comes out when the moon is on the run And all the stars are a gleaming It's growing in the street Right up through the concrete But softly and dreaming... There is a rose in Spanish Harlem A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem With eyes as black as coal That look down in his soul And start a fire there And then he loses control I'm going to beg his pardon, yeh He's going to pick that rose And watch her as she grows In his garden... There is a rose in Spanish Harlem A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem With eyes as black as coal That look down in his soul And start a fire there And then he loses control And I'm going to beg his pardon He's going to pick that rose And watch her as she grows In his garden
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