I Saw A White Lady Standing On The Street Just Sobbing (And I Think About It Once A Week) Songtext
von John Mulaney

I saw a white lady standing on the street just sobbing
And I think about it once a week

It was two years ago
Christmastime, foot of snow
Passing through Union Square
And I saw this crying white lady
Just kinda standing there

Funny. What if, instead of getting on a subway with my entire class for a field trip to look at bugs, I'd walk over?

I approach, she's demure
She thinks "Who is this four-foot bachelor?"
So my hand I extend
And say, "I'm Alex J. and you look like you need a friend"

Why are you crying in a public place?
Perhaps a friend of yours was fake to your face?
Or did you just come from Trader Joe's
And you paid too much for your avocados?


No Kleenex in her purse
I've a handkerchief for her, of course
Monogrammed "Alex J"
Keep it ma'am
Because you're just having one of those days

I understand
She takes my hand

We walk uptown and dine at Au Bon Pain
I talk of Sherlock Gnomes
From beginning to end
Then suddenly I say
"What's that sound I hear?"
"Your lovely laugh, my dear"

You got problems and I don't wanna delve
You're a grown up and I'm barely twelve
But spill your problems, I can help you with coping
Look me in the eye and the floodgates will open


They're phasing out my department
And I will lose my apartment
My mom is no support system
I like bad guys, can't resist them
Forgot to DVR Drag Race
My friend Alisse, fake to my face
Some fraud made them freeze my Amex
And then I ran into my ex
And some days this city and de Blasio just makes me scream "Why?!"
Why not just stand here and cry?

And also, this whole time, I'm wearing my dad's fancy scarf and my Heelys.

Her eyes glisten
I don't talk, I listen
Then the rain starts again
We scurry down the street to another Au Bon Pain

She takes my handkerchief from her purse
She says, "Alex J, I feel like I'm cursed"
Lady, I know that the sky isn't clear
But it cannot rain every day of the year
You can't just be crying in your own narrative
Because we tell ourselves stories in order to live

She nods, Joan Didion
I take her hand to Le Pain Quotidien
And we talk about life and love and Sherlock Gnomes
Until it's time to go home

That's what I think would happen
But it's all imagined
And I will wonder 'til the end
What if I hadn't walked away
Would that crying lady be my friend?

Anyway, I remember all sorts of things. Thanks for listening. And wherever you are, lady, have a good night.