Little Liza Barrett from the Upper West Side Wakes up every morning, wipes the sleep from her eyes And takes her painted pony for a capital ride Then it's backwards down the stairs to her parents' bedside
Henry is a doctor and Anne is a nurse They are bound to each other for better and for worse And if one is gonna leave, it will be in a hearse But they'll have to survive their baby daughter first
Now it's into the high chair and down with the tray You'd better strap her in before she wriggles away And she'll make her declaration like she does every day
She says "I am Elizabeth the Great And I don't have to clean my plate anymore!" And she tosses her oatmeal on the floor And says "You're not the boss of me no more!"
You may find her at the nursery singing the blues With her fellow three-year-olds and some terrible twos She says "They call this a bibâwell I call it a noose And one of these days you know I'm gonna cut loose"
An afternoon nap in the taxi and then The solitary confinement of the so-called "play pen" She dons her tiara and she says it again
She says "I am Elizabeth the Great And I don't have to clean my plate anymore!" And she tosses her peas on the floor And says "You're not the boss of me no more!"
Little Liza Barrett has a plan to escape She's been saving up her crackers, some cheese and some grapes And she's fashioned her blanket into a cape But it's gonna have to wait until a future date