How I love the kisses of Dolores
Ay, ay, ay, Dolores
Not Marie or Emily or Doris
Only my Dolores
From a balcony above me
She whispers, "Love me," and throws a rose
Ah, but she is twice as lovely as the rose she throws
I would die to be with my Dolores
Ay, ay, ay, Dolores
I was made to serenade Dolores
Just imagine eyes like moonrise
A voice like music, and lips like wine.
What a break if I could make Dolores mine all mine