| High above Manhattan town | 
| What floats and has a shape like that | 
| Fans like us who watch the skies | 
| We know it’s Morph the Cat | 
| Gliding like a big blue cloud | 
| From Tomkins Square to Upper Broadway | 
| Beyond the park to Sugar Hill | 
| Stops a minute for a latte | 
| He oozes down the heating duct | 
| Swims like seaweed down the hall | 
| He briefly digs your wiggy pad | 
| And seeps out through the wall | 
| It’s kind of like an arctic mindbath | 
| Cool and sweet and slightly rough | 
| Liquid light on New York City | 
| Like Christmas without the chintzy stuff | 
| What exactly does he want | 
| This Rabelaisian puff of smoke | 
| To make you feel all warm and cozy | 
| Like you heard a good joke | 
| Like you heard an Arlen tune | 
| Or you bought yourself a crazy hat | 
| Like you had a Mango Cooler | 
| Ooh — Morph the Cat | 
| He’s all the talk in shops and schoolyards | 
| Sultan Place — the Automat | 
| Players playin' in da Bronx | 
| Respects to Morph the Cat | 
| It’s kind of like an arctic mindbath | 
| Cool and sweet and slightly rough | 
| Liquid light on New York City | 
| Like Christmas without the chintzy stuff | 
| So rich is his charisma | 
| You can almost hear it sing | 
| He skims the roofs | 
| And bells begin to ring | 
| Chinese cashiers can feel it now | 
| Grand old gals at evening mass | 
| Young racketeers | 
| And teenage models | 
| Laughing on the grass | 
| Blessed Yankees have an ally | 
| When this feline comes to bat | 
| Bringing joy to old Manhattan | 
| All watch the skies for Morph the Cat |