I like big noses and I cannot lie, you other loners can’t deny, when a girl walks in with horn-rimmed glasses and a honker on her face you wanna say hi, what’s your name? Because you notice that nose was hooked, and she’s lost in the book she’s reading, and I can’t stop staring. Oh, baby, I wanna study with you, and be your library mister. My buddies tried to warn me, but that nose you got makes me go corny. You reading Rumpelstiltskin? Well, get in my book club, because you ain’t no literati scrub. I’ve seen her proofing. To hell with carousing. She’s smart, tart, got it going like Jean-Paul Sartre. I’m tired of magazines saying small noses are the thing. Take your average philosopher, and ask him that; he won’t pause, she gotta pack much schnoz. So, fellas. Fellas. Does your girlfriend got the nose? Scratch it, pick it, blow it. Blow that healthy nose. Baby got nose. (LA face with a New York proboscis. LA face with a New York proboscis.) I like them long and large, and when I’m left in charge I just can’t help it, I’m acting like Chico Marx. Now, here’s my quandary. I wanna do your laundry. Double load. Du-du-du double load. Please. I ain’t talking about rhinoplasty. Because cut-off parts don’t bring no joy. I want ’em real dented and Roman. So find that honker. This sir’s going bonkers. Begging for a trip to Yonkers. So I’m watching TV shows, small-nosed airheads talking like bros. You can have them blabs. I’ll keep my women like Babs. A word to the big-nares ladies: I want to do the crossword with you. I won’t misspell erhu. But I gotta be straight when I say I want to quote Joyce ’til the break of dawn. Ulysses got it goin’ on. A lot of douches won’t like this fable, because them yuppies like to fondle and quibble. And I’d rather dance all day. Because I’m safe and stable, and I know the whole periodic table. So, ladies. If you wanna roll with my coterie. Turn sideways. Stick it out. Even tech bros got to shout. Baby got nose. Yeah, when it comes to women Vogue ain’t showing my selection. Twenty-twenty vision? Ha. Only if she’s wearing thick glasses. So these models all got button noses, but they ain’t doing nothing but stupid poses. She don’t got a calculator in her pocket. My encyclopedia don’t want none unless you got a big beak. You can do thai chi or yoga, but please don’t lose that nose. Some dudes want to be an asshole, and tell you that nose ain’t gold. So they slight it and deride it, and I pull up quick to revive it. Some say Glamour’s where it’s at, well I ain’t down with that. Because your brain is large and your ideas are inimitable, and I’m hoping we’re compatible. To the dainty-nosed dames in the magazines, you ain’t it, Miss Thing. Give me an aquiline, I can’t resist it. Just a whiff of love and it’ll sniff it. Some jerkoffs are remiss, won’t tilt their heads when they kiss. They got looks but choose to ignore ’em, and I pull up quick to implore ’em. So ladies, if the nose is long, and you’re up for cocktails and ping pong, send a postcard to DOESN’T-MIX-WELL, and we’ll tell ’em all to go to hell. Baby got nose. Ski-slope jutting out and she’s got much upstairs. Baby got nose. Bump in the middle but got much bridge. Baby got nose.