The Player King of New York City

I was at the club on a Saturday night,

With a drink in my hand and my hair fixed right,

There was a pretty hot crowd for this time of night,

And I thought to myself what a beautiful sight,

Across the dance floor at my four o'clock,

Stood a cute little blonde who invited me over to talk,

As I got a better look I started to pity,

This woman was no match for the player king of New York City,

Though I was a little discouraged I kept my eyes open,

Passing up the first chance was a good omen,

The night was still young and I had seen better scores,

But you never know what might wander through those doors.

On a Saturday night where else would I be?

Chinese food is lame and there's nothing good on tv.

So I sit at the bar and take a sip from my drink,

Waiting for a foxy young lady to give me a wink.

And then out of nowhere a gorgeous brunette did appear,

With a strapless black dress and a diamond in each ear.

Her fine straight hair fell well below her shoulders,

And her soft blue eyes as piercing as boulders.

This woman was a sight unbelievably pretty,

Perhaps more than enough for the player king of New York City.

   

Inspired by Barney Stinson

By Daniel Patrick