The television is not that old
In the year 1952, but pure gold.
Up on a hill in the highland,
The t.v. with antenna is manned;
There was Author Godfrey,
Perry Como, Pattie Page we did see.
But for Ura May and me, we were enamored,
With Julius La Rosa and his glamour.
We wrote a letter,
Telling him he was better.
He send back his handsome self,
A picture that went on the shelf.
Where it stayed for so long a time,
I begged it be mine,
But it would be years before a find
Of things left behind,
His picture in a fragile box
Packed under some old socks.
