I'll take you there sometime
The plane will gently descend
And the city is like a musical super
Wake up six sleeping strings

Yellow Taxi just like China Town
We will move, suppressing the fire of hearts
Into music that knows no truths and lies
But it is, it still is

Not all the great ones have stopped playing
Though the wind blew the weather for the rich
Bad black pianos won't sleep
The old blues lives in them

Good days on Tin Pan Alley
Street musicians are paid here again
Loudspeakers rumble through the open door
Their pulse beats faster

Not all the great ones have stopped playing
Though the wind blew the weather for the rich
Bad black pianos won't sleep
The old blues lives in them

In the windows, there are notes from the 1950s
Covers of slightly torn records
Music that the world has always loved
Good business, a famous signboard

What you get out of it is your business
The taxi will come back with a screeching wheel
Back to the airport, flight fifty-five
Once again, you are looking down

Not all the great ones have stopped playing
Though the wind blew the weather for the rich
Bad black pianos won't sleep
The old blues lives in them

Good days on Tin Pan Alley
Street musicians are paid here again
Loudspeakers rumble through the open door
Their pulse beats faster

Not all the great ones have stopped playing
Though the wind blew the weather for the rich
Bad black pianos won't sleep
The old blues lives in them