| I’ve wined and dined on Mulligan Stew
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| And never wished for Turkey
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| As I hitched and hiked and grifted too
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| From Maine to Albuquerque
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| Alas, I missed the 'Beaux Arts Ball'
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| And what is twice as sad
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| I was never at a party where
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| They honored Noel Coward
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| But social circles spin too fast for me
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| My hobohemia is the place to be
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| I get too hungry, for dinner at eight
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| I like the theater, but never come late
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| I never bother, with people I hate
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp
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| I don’t like crap games, with barons and earls
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| Won’t go to Harlem, in ermine and pearls
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| Won’t dish the dirt, with the rest of the girls
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp
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| I like the free, fresh wind in her hair
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| Life without care, I’m broke, it’s okay
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| Hate California, it’s cold and it’s damp
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp
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| I go to Coney, the beach is divine
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| I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
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| I follow Winchell, and read every line
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp
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| I like a prizefight, that isn’t a fake
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| I love the rowing, on Central Park lake
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| I go to Opera and stay wide awake
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp
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| I like the green grass under my shoes
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| What can I lose, I’m flat, that’s that
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| I’m alone when I lower my lamp
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| That’s why the lady is a tramp |