Tekst: Lorenz Hart / Muziek: Richard Rodgers
(1956)
I’ve wined and dined on Mulligan Stew and never wished for Turkey
As I hitched and hiked and grifted too from Maine to Albuquerque
Alas, I missed the Beaux Arts Ball and what is twice as sad
I was never at a party where they honored Noël Ca-ad (Coward)
But social circles spin too fast for me
My ‘hobohemia’ is the place to be
I 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 tramp
I 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 tramp
I 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 tramp
I 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 tramp
I 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 tramp
I 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 is a tramp