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No. 6 - Song - Guy and Chorus of Girls
| Guy: | There are girls of ev'ry station With a liking for flirtation, In whose company a pleasant hour I've sped; From their charms I'm not distracting, Though I may appear exacting, But I've never found one yet I'd care to wed. Take the type that's sprung up lately — Rather masculine and stately, With a well developed chin and close cropp'd hair; In a costume bifurcated Which her tailor imitated From the model which her brother used to wear. Well, she rises with the lark And she scorches in the Park, She's a lady there's a lot of wear and tear about — But her boot's a number nine For her foot's as big as mine, So I don't think that's the sort of girl I care about. |
| Girls: | Well, she rises with the lark And she scorches in the Park, She's a lady there's a lot of wear and tear about — But her boot's a number nine For her foot's as big as mine, So I don't think that's the sort of girl I care about. |
| Guy: | There's a wealth of adoration in your youthful admiration For the deity who dances at the Hall, While you cultivate devotion To the poetry of motion, And you spend a little fortune in the stalls. For there's something in her dancing So unique and so entrancing That you worship ev'ry evening at her shrine; And in ecstasy you mutter That the fascinating flutter Of her petticoats is perfectly divine. She can charm you with a glance, She can sup and she can dance, She's a lady there's a lot of golden hair about — She's admirers by the score, Knows that two and two make four, But I don't think she's the sort of girl I care about. |
| Girls: | She can charm you with a glance, She can sup and she can dance, She's a lady there's a lot of golden hair about — She's admirers by the score, Knows that two and two make four, But I don't think she's the sort of girl I care about. |
| Guy: | There's a lib'ral education In the modern affectation Of the maiden who's a little past her prime, And who knows her charms are failing In the effort unavailing To secure a wealthy husband while there's time. For there's something quite pathetic In the waste of good cosmetic, Though her patronage, of course, is good for trade; For her fav'rite preparation, Pack'd secure from observation, Costs her twenty francs a bottle, postage paid. She's as girlish as can be, And she says she's twenty-three Though her age is really thirty-five or thereabout — She prefers a shaded light And her hair takes off at night, So I don't think that's the sort of girl I care about. |
| Girls: | She's as girlish as can be, And she says she's twenty-three Though her age is really thirty-five or thereabout — She prefers a shaded light And her hair takes off at night, So I don't think that's the sort of girl I care about. |
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Page modified 20 February 2017