| I seem to be the victim of a cruel jest
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| It dogs my footsteps with the girl I love the best
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| She’s just the sweetest thing that I have ever known
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| But still we never get the chance to be alone
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| My car will meet her
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| And her mother comes, too
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| It’s a two-seater
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| Still her mother comes, too
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| At Ciro’s when I am free
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| At dinner, supper, or tea
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| She loves to shimmy with me
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| And her mother does, too
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| We buy her trousseau
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| And her mother comes, too
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| Asked not to do so
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| Still her mother comes, too
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| She simply can’t take a snub
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| I go and sulk at the club
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| Then have a bath and a rub
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| And her brother comes, too
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| There may be times when couples need a chaperone
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| But mothers ought to leave a chap alone
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| I wish they’d have a heart and use their common sense
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| For three’s a crowd, and more, it’s treble the expense
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| We lunch at Maxim’s
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| And her mother comes, too
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| How large a snack seems
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| When her mother comes, too
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| And when they’re visiting me
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| We finish afternoon tea
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| She loves to sit on my knee
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| And her mother does, too
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| To golf we started
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| And her mother came, too
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| Three bags I carted
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| When her mother came, too
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| She fainted just off the tee
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| My darling whispered to me
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| «Jack, dear, at last we are free!»
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| But her mother came to |