Jon Secada Spanish Harlem
There's a rose in Black and Spanish Harlem
A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem
It is a special one, it never sees the sun
It only comes out when the moon is on the run
And all the stars are a gleaming
It's growing in the street
Right up through the concrete
But softly and dreaming...
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal
That look down in his soul
And start a fire there
And then he loses control
I'm going to beg his pardon, yeh
He's going to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows
In his garden...
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A rose in Black and Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal
That look down in his soul
And start a fire there
And then he loses control
And I'm going to beg his pardon
He's going to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows
In his garden