I've wined and dined on Mulligan Stew, and never wished for TurkeyAs I hitched and hiked and grifted too, from Maine to AlbuquerqueAlas, I missed the Beaux Arts Ball, and what is twice as sadI was never at a party where they honored Noel Ca-ad (Coward)But social circles spin too fast for meMy "hobohemia" is the place to be I get too hungry, for dinner at eightI like the theater, but never come lateI never bother, with people I hateThat's why the lady is a tramp I don't like crap games, with barons and earlsWon't go to Harlem, in ermine and pearlsWon't dish the dirt, with the rest of the girlsThat's why the lady is a tramp I like the free, fresh wind in her hairLife without careI'm broke, it's o'kHate California, it's cold and it's dampThat's why the lady is a tramp I go to Coney, the beach is devineI go to ballgames, the bleachers are fineI find a Winchell, and read every lineThat's why the lady is a tramp I like a prizefight, that isn't a fakeI love the rowing, on Central Park lakeI go to Opera and stay wide awakeThat's why the lady is a tramp I like the green grass under my shoesWhat can I lose, I'm flat, that's thatI'm alone when I lower my lampThat's why the lady is a tramp
