I won't send roses or hold the door;
I won't remember which dress you wore.
My heart is too much in control, the lack of romance in my soul
Will turn you gray, kid, so stay away, kid.
Forget my shoulder when you're in need.
Forgetting birthdays is guaranteed.
And should I love you, you would be the last to know
I won't send roses
And roses suit you so.

My pace is frantic my temper's cross;
With words romantic I'm at a loss.
I'd be the first one to agree that I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kid so keep your head, kid.
In me you'll find things like guts and nerve,
But not the kind things that you deserve.
And so while there's a fighting chance just turn and go.
I won't send roses
And roses suit you so.
                       --Jerry Herman