Sweet Beatrice Lyrics - Adam Sandler

Hangin' with my sweet amour 

She came out with a lion's roar 

Yellin' "I'm goin' to the corner store," 

Be back at quarter to four 

"Don't slam you pinkies in the drawer" 

She can be like a maiden from the days of yore 

Hangin' out at Studio 54 

Break-dancin' on the slick, brick disco floor 

With Lionel Richie 

Who, by the way, was a Commodore 

One time she gave mouth-to-mouth to a snaggle-tooth boar 

Who couldn't breathe right since the Vietnam War 

Then she played Chinese Checkers with Skeletor 

And went camping with Eva Gabor 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

And, she's coming home 

I got a picture of her down by the seashore 

Wearing a bikini made of purple velour 

Her hair's up like Conway Twitty's pompadour 

With the smile of Guy LeFleur 

She got the ups and the downs like an elevator 

But deep inside she's a marshmallow s'more 

Can bake a cake as big as Jupitor 

Either/or, neither/nor 

She'll share it with your Labrador 

She can run faster than a blazing meteor 

Loves Winnie the Pooh and his friend Eeyore 

Can make a pipe out of an apple core 

That's a trick she learned from Roberto Parrish 

Down in Ecuador 

You know why? 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

And she's coming home 

Well, for sure, she opened the door 

Whipped out a three-foot fishing lure 

Sexually, that made me feel insecure 

Like the time I was a roadie 

On Elton John's tour 

She said "Let's go catch some Piscatore!" 

I said "Beatrice, you don't eat fish no more" 

She said "By G-d, you're right!" 

So we took ourselves a snore 

And when we woke up 10 hours later 

We made "Love Du Jour" 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

She's my sweet Beatrice 

And she came home 

She likes to clean out the attic every now and then 

She's gonna knit me a brand new golfing bag 

We gonna watch ourselves a John Wayne movie 

Then we gonna free all the doggies at the kennel 

She gonna try on my third grade mittens 

She'll keep 'em on even though they're way to small 

Well, she ain't never gonna hurt me 

She ain't never gonna let me down 

She ain't never gonna tell nobody 

I'm afraid of birds and spiders 

Well, 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

Bea-Bea-Bea-Beatrice 

And she loves Pat Summerall