Baby, baby, what is the matter wit' you?
Baby, baby, what is the matter wit' you?
You've got the world in a jug,
And you don't have a thing to do.
I've always told you, baby ,
You'd be the death of me.
'Cause when I'm always wit' you,
I get the third degree.
That ain't right
Baby, that ain't right at all!
Takin' all my money,
Goin' out, havin' yourself a ball.
I took you to a nightclub,
And bought you pink champagne.
You rode home in a taxi,
And I caught the subway train.
That ain't right
Baby, that ain't right at all!
Takin' all my money,
Goin' out, havin' yourself a ball.
I went to a fortune teller
And had my fortune told.
She said you didn't love me,
All you wanted was my gold.
That ain't right
Baby, that ain't right at all!
Takin' all my money,
Goin' out, havin' yourself a ball.
Writer(s): Irving Mills, Nat King Cole
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