Oh my heart is beating wildly,
And it's all because you're here,
When I'm not near the boy I love,
I love the boy I'm near.
Every man that wanders by me,
Is a flame that must be fanned,
When I can't fondel the hand I'm fond of,
I fondel the hand at hand.
My heart's in a pickle,
It's constantly fickle,
And not too partickle, I fear,
When I'm not near the boy I love,
I love the boy I'm near.
We're confessing a confession,
And we hope we're not verbose,
When I'm not near the kiss that I cling to,
I cling to the kiss that's close.
My heart's in a pickle,
It's constantly fickle,
And not too partickle, I fear.
When I'm not near the boy I love,
I love the boy I'm near.
Writer(s): E. Y. Harburg, Burton Lane
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