Songtext Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette Phil Harris

Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette

Now, I'm a fella with a heart of gold,
The ways of a gentleman, I've been told.
The kind of a guy that wouldn't even harm a flea
But if me and a certain character met
That guy that invented that cigarette
I'd murder that son of a gun in the first degree.

Well not 'cause I don't smoke myself
I don't reckon they'll harm your health
I've smoked all my life and I'm not dead yet.
But nicotine slaves are all the same,
At a pettin' party or a poker game,
Everything must stop while they smoke a cigarette.

Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! that cigarette.
Puff! Puff! Puff!
And if you smoke yourself to death,
Tell Saint Peter at the golden gate
That you hate to make him wait,
But you got to have another cigarette.

In a game of chance the other night,
Old Dame Fortune was doing me right.
The kings and queens just kept on comin' round
I played 'em hard and I played 'em high
But my bluff didn't work on a certain guy
He kept on raisin' and layin' that money down

He'd raise me, and I'd raise him.
I sweated blood, gotta sink or swim;
He finally called, but he didn't raise the bet.
I said ?Aces full, pal, how 'bout you??
He said ?I'll tell you in a minute or two,
Right now I got to have a cigarette.?

Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! that cigarette.
Puff! Puff! Puff!
And if you smoke yourself to death,
Tell Saint Peter at the golden gate,
That you hates to make him wait,
But you gotta have another cigarette.

Now the other night I had a date
With the cutest little gal in 48 states,
A high bred up-town fancy little dame.
She said she loved me, and it seemed to me
That things were about like they ought to be.
So hand in hand we strolled down lover's lane.

She was oh so far from a cake of ice,
Our smoochin' party was going nice,
So help me Hannah, I think I'd have been there yet
But I'd give her a kiss and a little squeeze
And she said, "Phil, excuse me please,
But I've got to have another cigarette."

Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! that cigarette
Puff! Puff! Puff!
And if you puff yourself to death,
Tell Saint Peter at the golden gate,
That you hate to make him wait,
But you got to have another cigarette.

[Spoken:] Oh, Saint Peter I sure hate to keep you holdin' that gate open,
But I've just got to have another drag of this cigarette,
Mmm, this perty thing! [Sound of lighting cigarette]
Mm, thank you, Peter, thank you!