From the Prairie Home Companion show, Saturday, December 27, 2008        
HUSH LITTLE BABY sung by Garrison Keillor and Heather Masse.
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Hush little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna take you to West Forty-third,
To Town Hall just off Times Square,
To see a broadcast go on the air,
And if we don't care for radio,
We'll go to Radio City to the Christmas show,
And if the Rockettes have sore feet,
Papa's gonna take you to Bleecker Street,
And if we see no artists there,
Papa's gonna take you to Washington Square,
Where we can play chess with the chess wonks,
Who come down everyday from the Bronx,
And if it's boring and you let the wonk win,
Papa's gonna take you to the Algonquin,
And if the Round Table is not so round,
We'll take a Circle Line cruise to the Long Island Sound,
And if it's one of those rainy days,
Papa's gonna take you to Cartier's,
And if the diamonds do not amaze,
Papa's gonna take you to some Broadway plays,
And if the audience gets restless and vocal,
Papa's gonna take you on the Broadway local,
And if they won't move over and give you and me room,
Papa's gonna take you to the Russian Tea Room,
And if the blinis seem just too small,
We'll go next door to Carnegie Hall,
And if it's some choir singing Messiah,
Papa's gonna take you to Gray's Papaya,
And if the papaya leaves you feeling dry,
We'll go to the 92nd Street Y,
And if the poetry reading's a bore,
And the metaphors you've heard before,
And the poets' muse is a much too solemn muse,
Papa's gonna take you to St. Bartholomew's,
And if the homily bores you to tears,
Papa's gonna take you to the Chelsea Piers,
And if the locker room is just too smelly,
Papa's gonna take you to Carnegie Deli,
And if it's crowded and there's a long line
Of Midwesterners waiting to dine,
And at the end you see a man,
Who looks like your uncle Stan from Mandan,
We'll tiptoe away nice and slow.
Over to the Oyster Bar we'll go,
And if the Oyster Bar is fresh out of oysters,
Papa's gonna take you up to the Cloisters,
And if you don't care for tapestries,
We'll go to Zabar's and look at cheese,
And if you don't like curds and whey,
Papa's gonna take you to the Hard Rock Café,
And if that rock isn't really and truly hard,
Papa's gonna take you to Juilliard,
And if they won't play Paganini for ya,
Papa's gonna take you to the Waldorf Astoria,
And if you don't care for candelabra,
Papa's gonna take you to the Metropolitan Opera,
And if you don't like "La Traviata",
As much as a $200 ticket oughta,
And the soprano doesn't hang out on the fermata,
We'll go to Holy Trinity for a Bach cantata,
And if the music is too serene,
We'll stop in at Picholine,
And if the poached perch paté pales,
Papa's gonna take you to Bloomingdale's,
And if Bloomingdale's doesn't quite bloom,
Papa's gonna take you to Grant's Tomb,
And if Grant's Tomb fills you with gloom,
Papa's gonna take you to the Rainbow Room,
And if the Rainbow makes you blue,
Papa's gonna take you to the Central Park Zoo,
And if those polar bears submerge,
Papa's gonna take you to Trinity Church,
And if we don't even know what we're praying for,
We'll tiptoe out and head for the door,
And when our credit cards have all gone bust,
Then we may as well 'cause we know we must
Pack our bags and head back home,
Back to the place where the buffalo roam,
Back where the houses are never locked,
And people head to bed about nine o'clock,
Where there is no subway, no A line or B line,
Just a highway and a treeline,
Where there's no Zabar's and no Balduccis,
Selling thirty-five different kinds of blue cheese,
We got no Lincoln Center, no Times Square,
Got no salons to do our hair,
No haughty models walking down Fifth Avenue,
Just folks who say "It was real nice havin' you"
We'll settle down and work real hard,
And pay off the debt on our credit card,
Pay the bill every month,
For the fun we had in New York wonth.
We're in debt; there's a recession.
Our American Express has lost its expression.
Our Visa's deVisaed and our Master's unMastered,
All because of you, you beautiful child.

We'll stay home and save our dough,
And sit around with the radio,
In our pajamas and nightgown,
And you'll still be the sweetest little baby around.