The lady is a tramp

I’ve wined and dined on Mulligan Stew,
and never wished for Turkey

As I hitched and hiked and grifted too,
from Maine to Albuquerque

Alas, I missed the Beaux Arts Ball,
and what is twice as sad

I was never at a party where they honoured Noel Coward
But social circles spin too fast for me

My “hobohemia” is the place to be
I get too hungry, for dinner at eight

I like the theatre, but never come late
I never bother, with people I hate

That’s why the lady is a tramp
I don’t like crap games, with barons and earls

Won’t go to Harlem, in ermine and pearls
Won’t dish the dirt, with the rest of the girls

That’s why the lady is a tramp
I like the free, fresh wind in her hair

Life without care
I’m broke, it’s ok

Hate California, it’s cold and it’s damp
That’s why the lady is a tramp

I go to Coney, the beach is divine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine

I find a Winchell, and read every line
That’s why the lady is a tramp

I like a prize fight, that isn’t a fake
I love the rowing, on Central Park lake

I go to Opera and stay wide awake
That’s why the lady is a tramp

I like the green grass under my shoes
What can I lose, I’m flat, that’s that

I’m alone when I lower my lamp
That’s why the lady is a tramp