the butcher, the baker
the grocer, the clerk
are secretly unhappy men
because
the butcher, the baker
the grocer, the clerk
get paid for what they do
but no applause
they'd gladly bid their dreary jobs goodbye
for anything theatrical and why
there's no bus'ness like show bus'ness
like no bus'ness i know
ev'rything about it is appealing
ev'rything the traffic will allow
nowhere could you get that happy feeling
when you are stealing
that extra bow
there's no people like show people
they smile when they are low
even with a turkey that you know will fold
you may be stranded out in the cold
still you wouldn't change it for a sack of gold
let's go on with the show
the costumes, the scenery
the makeup, the props
the audience that lifts you when you're down
the headaches, the heartaches
the backaches, the flops
the sheriff who escorts you out of town
the opening when your heart beats like a drum
the closing when the customers won't come
there's no bus'ness like show bus'ness
like no bus'ness i know
you get the word before the show has started
that your favorite uncle died at dawn
top of that your pa and ma have parted
you're broken-hearted
but you go on
there's no people like show people
they never run out of dough
yesterday they told you you would not go far
that night you open and there you are
next day on your dressing room they've hung a star
let's go on with the show
