I love the free, fresh wind in my hairLife without care, oh I’m so broke, it’s oldI hate California, it’s crowded and dampThat’s why the lady is a tramp (I am a tramp)
Sometimes I go to Coney Island, oh the beach is divineAnd I love the Yankees, Judge’s just fineI follow Rodgers and Hart, she sings every lineThat’s why the lady is a tramp
I love a prizefight, that isn’t a fake (no fakes)I love to row boat with you and your wife on Central Park lakeShe goes to Opera and stays wide awake (yes, I do)That’s why this lady is a tramp
She likes the green (green) grass (grass) under her shoesWhat can I lose, ‘cause I got no dough (oh no?)I’m all alone when I lower my lampThat’s why the lady is a tramp
Go!
I love your free fresh, I love your handkerchief in my hairLife without care, but I am s
