I've wined and dined on Mulligan Stew
And never wished for turkey
As I hitched and hiked and grifted too
From Maine to AlbuquerqueAlas, I missed the Beaux Arts Ball
And what is twice as sad
I was never at a party
Where they honored Noel Ca'adBut social circles spin too fast for me
My 'Hobohemia' is the place to beI get too hungry for dinner at eight
I like the theater but never come late
I never bother with people I hate
That's why the lady is a trampI 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 trampI like the free, fresh wind in my hair
Life without care, I'm broke, it's o'k
Hate California, it's cold and it's damp
That's why the lady is a trampI go to Coney, the beach is divine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
I follow Winchell and read every line
That's why the lady is a trampI like a prizefight 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 trampI like the green grass under my shoes
What can I lose? I'm flat, that's that
I'm all alone when I lower my lamp
That's why the lady, that's why the lady
That's why the lady is a tramp
Songwriters
HART, LORENZ/RODGERS, RICHARDPublished by
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., IMAGEM U.S. LLC