If you’re a guy who thinks that your commute’s gonna be short,
I’ve got for you a bridge in Brooklyn you ought to have bought.
This isn’t like putting on boots and then fording a stream;
you’re gonna sit inside your car for hours, and you’ll be steamed!

Cross over the bridge?
Not over this bridge!
This way’s feckless, unforgiving. . .
not over this bridge.
Leave your silly plans behind you;
blocked lanes are gonna bind you.
Uh-uh! Not over this bridge.

You oughta build or buy a boat to reach the other side—
at the very worst you might have to face a little tide.
That way you’ll make the other state, the one next to Jersey.
If you do not take my advice, you will beg for mercy.

Cross over the bridge?
Not over this bridge!
This way’s feckless—you’ll be grieving. . .
not over this bridge.
Leave your silly plans behind you;
this fiasco will grind you.
Uh-uh! Not over this bridge.

The bridge route’s far from easy; at its best it’s crawl-and-stall—
you’ll sit inside your car, where you will honk and curse and bawl.
It will take days before you reach the structure high above,
and for your plight you’ll have to thank myrmidons of the gov.

Cross over the bridge?
Not over this bridge!
This way’s feckless, so start sailing . .
not over this bridge.
Leave your silly plans behind you. . .
the last time I’ll remind you:
Uh-uh! Not over this bridge.