I met him at a party just a couple of years ago,

He was rather over-hearty and ridiculous

But as I'd seen him on the screen he cast a certain spell.

I'd basked in his attraction

For a couple of hours or so.

His manners were a fraction too meticulous,

If he was real or not, I couldn't tell,

But like a silly fool I fell

Mad about the boy,

I know it's stupid

To be mad about the boy.

I'm so ashamed of it

But must admit

The sleepless nights

I've had about the boy.

On the silver screen

He melts my foolish heart

In every single scene.

Although I'm quite aware

That here and there

Are traces of that cared about the boy.

Lord knows I'm not a fool girl,

I really shouldn't care.

Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl

In the flurry of her first affair.

Will it ever cloy

This odd diversity of misery and joy

I'm feeling quite insane

And young again

And all because

I'm mad about the boy.

It seems a little silly

For a girl of my age and weight

To walk down Piccadilly in a haze of light.

It ought to take her a good deal more

To take a bad girl down.

I should've been exempt for my particular kind of fate

As taught me such contempt for every phase of love

And now I've been and spent my love torn crown

To weep about a painted clown.

Mad about the boy,

It's pretty funny

But I'm mad about the boy.

He has a gay appeal that makes me feel

There's maybe something sad about the boy.

Walking down the street

His eyes look out at me from people that I meet.

I can't believe it's true,

But when I'm blue, in some strange way

I'm glad about the boy.

I'm hardly sentimental,

Love i