Lyrics
There’s a tragic, mystic, magic land
Off there, my India;
Ev’ry stranger calls it danger land
Off there, my India,
They don’t understand
The wondrous sleight of hand
Of countless hypnotists and futurists in my land.
CHORUS:
Hindu man, the miracle man,
Supreme in magic history;
Fakir Hindu man, the miracle man,
Can prophesy and verify life’s mystery.
Step up and gaze in the crystal before you,
Thro’ misty haze comes a lover to woo;
Behold his merciless frown,
His turban crown, your dark brown Hindu man.
To that risky, pessimisky land
Off there, my India,
He will take you and forsake you and
You’ll love my India.
Home of “ologists,” of great psychologists,
Of grand phrenologists,
Palmologists and flimflam.