Here, Here & Here
The time of my life, a record of myselfAn accurate sketch of perfect healthA roof on my head, shoes on my feetPlenty of room, plenty to eat
Been very far, made lots of friendsI love my mother, hope to see her againI'm a wanderer now, sorrow befalls meI laugh often, so I suppose I'm gonna be fine
Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing"And that's all we doWe just write and playAnd write and play and write and
Here, here and hereHe pointed to his heart and mind and earsHe said, "Here, here and here"He pointed to his heart and mind and ears
(Here, here and here)Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing"(He pointed to his heart and mind and ears)Yeah, yeah, yeah.