| A small cigar can change the world | 
| I know, I’ve done it frequently at parties | 
| Where I’ve won all the guests' attention | 
| With my generosity and suave gentlemanly bearing | 
| A little flat tin case is all you need | 
| Breast-pocket conversation opener | 
| And one of those ciggie lighters that look rather good | 
| You can throw away when empty | 
| Must be declared a great success | 
| My small cigars all vanish within minutes | 
| Excuse me, mine host, that I may visit | 
| A nearby tobacconist | 
| To replenish my supply of small cigars | 
| And make the party swing again | 
| I know my clothes seem shabby | 
| And don’t fit this Hampstead soiree | 
| Where unread copies of Rolling Stone | 
| Well-thumbed Playboys | 
| Decorate the hi-fi stereo record shelves | 
| If you ask me they’re on their way | 
| To upper-middle-class oblivion | 
| The stupid twits, they roll their only | 
| One cigarette between them | 
| My small cigar’s redundant now | 
| In the haze of smoking pleasure | 
| Call it a day | 
| Get the hell away | 
| Go down the cafe | 
| For a cup of real tea | 
| By the tube station, there’s a drunk old fool | 
| Who sells papers in the rush hour | 
| I hand to him ten small cigars | 
| He smiles, says, Son, God bless you | 
| A small cigar | 
| Has changed his world, my friend | 
| A small cigar | 
| Has changed the world again | 
| A small cigar |