Chopsuite, Chopsuite, living here is very much like Chopsuite. Hula hoops and nuclear war, Dr. Salk and Sgt. Gabor, Bobby Darroch, Sandra Dee and Dewey. Chopsuite, Chopsuite. Stars are drifting overhead, birds and worms have gone to bed. Men work late in laboratories, others read detective stories. Some are roaming round the country, others sit beneath just one tree. Tonight on TV's day-to-day show, you can look at clarifying. Chopsuite, Chopsuite. Good and bad, intelligent, mad and screwy. Violins and trumpets and drums, take it all the way if it comes. Sad and funny, sour and honey-dewy. Chopsuite, Chopsuite. Ballpoint pens and filter tips, lipsticks and potato chips. In the dampest kind of heat wave, you can give your hair a neat wave. Hear that lovely la-pa-lo-pa-la-la-bye-bye Perry come on. Dreaming in my maiden form bra, dreamed I danced the cha-cha-cha. Chopsuite, Chopsuite. Mixed with all the hokum and ballyhooey. Something real and glowing and grand, shakes the light all over the land. Boston, Austin, Wichita and St. Louis. Chopsuite, Chopsuite.