It all began when I was born a month too soon My ma was frightened by a runaway saloon Pa was forced to be a hobo Because he played the oboe And the oboe, it is clearly understood Is an ill wind that no one blows good I'll never forget the morning That Grandpa ate the awning To impress a pretty lady Who went for men that were shady Then my uncle Josia lit the Chicago fire Ran off to Hawaii with the O'Leary cow Which his loving wife resented And there upon invented A rolling pin that strikes and then says pow And I'm the result of the twisted eugenics Of this family of inbred schizophrenics The end of a long long line of bats I design women's hats I'm Anatole of Paris I shriek with chic, my hat of the week 'Cause 6 divorces, 3 runaway horses I'm Anatole of Paris The hats I sell make husbands yell "Is that a hat or a two room flat?" Let me get my paw On a little piece of straw and viola A chapeau, at 60 bucks a throw It's how I pull and chew on it The little things I do on it Like placing yards of lacing Or a bicycle built for two on it The little ones, the big ones The sat on by a pig ones The foolish ones that perch And the ghoulish ones that lurch The one called whiskey sour Designed for the cocktail hour A little snip, a potato chip And a trifle off the Eiffel Tower I'm Anatole of Paris, I must design I'm just like wine, I go to your head Give me thread and the needle I itch, I twitch to stitch I'm a glutton for cutting For putting with a button To snip and pluck, nip and tuck Fix and trim, plan the brim Tote that barge, lift that bail And why do I sew each new chapeau With a style they most look positively grim in Strictly between us, entre-nous, I hate women