The Old Tramp
A Old Tramp slep' in our stable wunst,
An' The Raggedy Man he caught
An' roust him up, an' chased him off
Clean out through our back lot!
An' th' Old Tramp hollered back an' said,--
'You're a _purty_ man!--_You_ air!--
With a pair o' eyes like two fried eggs,
An' a nose like a Bartlutt pear!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Elmer Brown
Awf'lest boy in this-here town
Er anywheres is Elmer Brown!
He'll mock you--yes, an' strangers, too,
An' make a face an' yell at you,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
Yes, an' wunst in School one day,
An' Teacher's lookin' wite that way,
He helt his slate, an' hide his head,
An' maked a face at _her_, an' said,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
An' sir! when Rosie Wheeler smile
One morning at him 'crosst the aisle,
He twist his face all up, an' black
His nose wiv ink, an' whisper back,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
Wunst when his Aunt's all dressed to call,
An' kiss him good-bye in the hall,
An' latch the gate an' start away,
He holler out to her an' say,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
An' when his Pa he read out loud
The speech he maked, an' feel so proud
It's in the paper--Elmer's Ma
She ketched him--wite behind his Pa,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
Nen when his Ma she slip an' take
Him in the other room an' shake
Him good! w'y, he don't care--no-_sir_!--
He ist look up an' laugh at her,--
'_Here's_ the way _you_ look!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tramp, Tramp, Tramp
Interesting animation by Max and Dave Fleischer in which the audience was to sing along with lyrics on the screen.
from Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1924)
Submitted by Film Fan
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The Raggedy Man
1 O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
2 An' he's the goodest man ever you saw!
3 He comes to our house every day,
4 An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay;
5 An' he opens the shed -- an' we all ist laugh
6 When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;
7 An' nen -- ef our hired girl says he can --
8 He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. --
9 Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man?
10 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
11 W'y, The Raggedy Man -- he's ist so good,
12 He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood;
13 An' nen he spades in our garden, too,
14 An' does most things 'at boys can't do. --
15 He clumbed clean up in our big tree
16 An' shooked a' apple down fer me --
17 An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann --
18 An' 'nother 'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man. --
19 Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man?
20 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
21 An' The Raggedy Man one time say he
22 Pick' roast' rambos from a' orchurd-tree,
23 An' et 'em -- all ist roast' an' hot! --
24 An' it's so, too! -- 'cause a corn-crib got
25 Afire one time an' all burn' down
26 On "The Smoot Farm," 'bout four mile from town --
27 On "The Smoot Farm"! Yes -- an' the hired han'
28 'At worked there nen 'uz The Raggedy Man! --
29 Ain't he the beatin'est Raggedy Man?
30 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
31 The Raggedy Man's so good an' kind
32 He'll be our "horsey," an' "haw" an' mind
33 Ever'thing 'at you make him do --
34 An' won't run off -- 'less you want him to!
35 I drived him wunst way down our lane
36 An' he got skeered, when it 'menced to rain,
37 An' ist rared up an' squealed and run
38 Purt' nigh away! -- an' it's all in fun!
39 Nen he skeered ag'in at a' old tin can ...
40 Whoa! y' old runaway Raggedy Man!
41 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
42 An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes,
43 An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes:
44 Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves,
45 An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers the'rselves:
46 An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot,
47 He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got,
48 'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can
49 Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann!
50 Er Ma, er Pa, er The Raggedy Man!
51 Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man?
52 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
53 An' wunst, when The Raggedy Man come late,
54 An' pigs ist root' thue the garden-gate,
55 He 'tend like the pigs 'uz bears an' said,
56 "Old Bear-shooter'll shoot 'em dead!"
57 An' race' an' chase' 'em, an' they'd ist run
58 When he pint his hoe at 'em like it's a gun
59 An' go "Bang! -- Bang!" nen 'tend he stan'
60 An' load up his gun ag'in! Raggedy Man!
61 He's an old Bear-shooter Raggedy Man!
62 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
63 An' sometimes The Raggedy Man lets on
64 We're little prince-children, an' old King's gone
65 To git more money, an' lef' us there --
66 And Robbers is ist thick ever'where;
67 An' nen -- ef we all won't cry, fer shore --
68 The Raggedy Man he'll come and "'splore
69 The Castul-halls," an' steal the "gold" --
70 An' steal us, too, an' grab an' hold
71 An' pack us off to his old "Cave"! -- An'
72 Haymow's the "cave" o' The Raggedy Man! --
73 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
74 The Raggedy Man -- one time, when he
75 Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me,
76 Says "When you're big like your Pa is,
77 Air you go' to keep a fine store like his --
78 An' be a rich merchunt -- an' wear fine clothes? --
79 Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows?"
80 An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann,
81 An' I says "'M go' to be a Raggedy Man! --
82 I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!"
83 Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Two Samaritans and the Tramp
A TRAMP was trampin’ on the road—
The afternoon was warm an’ muggy—
And by-and-by he chanced to meet
A parsin ridin’ in a buggy.
Said he: “As follerers ov the Loard,
To do good offices we oughter!”
An’ from a water-bag he poured,
An’ guv the tramp, a drink er water.
The parsin he went rattlin’ ’ome
To ware his fam-i-lee was thrivin’,
The tramp went on until he met
A bullick-driver, bullick drivin’—
“It’s bilin’ ’ot,” the driver sed
As soon’s the dirty tramp drawed nearer,
And from a little keg he poured,
And giv the tramp a pint of beer—“ah!”
(P.S.—The “ah” is meant to stand for the tramp a-drinking ov it.)
I ain’t agin the temperance cause,
Nor yet no advocate ov drinkin’—
I only tells the yarn because—
Well, at the time it somehow seemed
Ter kind ov set me thinkin’.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Bibler's Army
It was ten years ago when the belle of the village
Gave here her hand to the young millionaire,
Every toungue (even those of the bells in the steeple)
Saying "Joy to the Heav'n-blest pair!"
She was sweet as the rosebud that blooms in the valley;
He was manly, and noble, and brave.
Tell me, where are they now?
In the sad-eyed procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.
Hark! hark! a pageant passes
(tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp):
I hear the tread of moving masses
(tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp)
O Heaven save our young men --
'tis King Bibler's Army,
Marching down, down, down to the grave.
At the head of the boat are the dashing lieutenants
Who entice young recruits into line;
Arm in arm, three abreast, they keep step with the music,
Bearing goblets of blood red wine.
In the rear, by and by, we shall see them together,
As they stagger along on the pave,
With their wives and their children, a rag-robed procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.
From the front to the rear is the rule of promotion
In the army King Bibler commands;
And the pension is pov'rty, disease and dishonor,
With a forfeit of home and lands.
So the friend that was treated to cordials and juleps,
Will be treated at last like a slave,
As he fags at the end of the chaingang procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.
Would you fill up the ranks? let your town send its quota:
Seventy thousand recruits must be found,
For the gravediggers reckon they bury that number
Every year in the cold, cold ground.
Yet the rest hobble on, and the colors they carry,
Though in tatters, triumphantly wave,
For they vanquish themselves in this madman's procession,
Marching, down, down, down to the grave.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Army of the Rear
I listened through the music and the sounds of revelry,
And all the hollow noises of that year of Jubilee;
I heard beyond the music and beyond the local cheer,
The steady tramp of thousands that were marching in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
They seem to shake the air,
Those never-ceasing footsteps of the outcasts in the rear.
I heard defiance ringing from the men of rags and dirt,
I heard wan woman singing that sad “Song of the Shirt”,
And o’er the sounds of menace and moaning low and drear,
I heard the steady tramping of their feet along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Vibrating in the air —
They’re swelling fast, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!
I hate the wrongs I read about, I hate the wrongs I see!
The tramping of that army sounds as music unto me!
A music that is terrible, that frights the anxious ear,
Is beaten from the weary feet that tramp along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
In dogged, grim despair —
They have a goal, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!
I looked upon the nobles, with their lineage so old;
I looked upon their mansions, on their acres and their gold,
I saw their women radiant in jewelled robes appear,
And then I joined the army of the outcasts in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
We’ll show what Want can dare,
My brothers and my sisters of the Army of the Rear!
I looked upon the mass of poor, in filthy alleys pent;
And on rich men’s Edens, that are built on grinding rent;
I looked o’er London’s miles of slums — I saw the horrors there,
And swore to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
I’ve sworn to do and dare,
I’ve sworn to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear!
“They’re brutes,” so say the wealthy, “and by steel must be dismayed” —
Be brutes among us, nobles, they are brutes that ye have made;
We want what God hath given us, we want our portion here,
And that is why we’re marching — and we’ll march beyond the rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Awake and have a care,
Ye proud and haughty spurners of the wretches in the rear.
We’ll nurse our wrongs to strengthen us, our hate that it may grow,
For, outcast from society, society’s our foe.
Beware! who grind out human flesh, for human life is dear!
There’s menace in the marching of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
There’s danger in despair,
There’s danger in the marching of the Army of the Rear!
The wealthy care not for our wants, nor for the pangs we feel;
Our hands have clutched in vain for bread, and now they clutch for steel!
Come, men of rags and hunger, come! There’s work for heroes here!
There’s room still in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
O men of want and care!
There’s glory in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts in a Far Country
I rise and applaud, in the patriot manner,
Whenever (as often) I hear
The palpitanat strains of "The Star Spangled Banner,"--
I shout and cheer.
And also, to show my unbound devotion,
I jump to my feet with a "Whee!"
Whenever "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean"
Is played near me.
My fervour's so hot and my ardour so searing--
I'm hoarse for a couple of days--
You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering
"The Marsailles"
I holler for "Dixie." I go off my noodle,
I whistle, I pound, and I stamp
Whenever an orchestra plays "Yankee Doodle,"
Or "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp."
But if you would enter my confidence, reader,
Know that I'd go clean off my dome,
And madly embrace any orchestra leader
For "Home, Sweet Home."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel colecapo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street.[d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street.jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street.he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lady Is A Tramp
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 Noel 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 her 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 alone when I lower my lamp
That's why the lady is a tramp
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel cole capo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street. [d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street. jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street. he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadow March
All around the house is the jet-black night;
It stares through the window-pane;
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
And it moves with the moving flame.
Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum,
With the breath of the Bogies in my hair;
And all around the candle and the crooked shadows come,
And go marching along up the stair.
The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
The shadow of the child that goes to bed--
All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp,
With the black night overhead.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lady Is A Tramp
Ive 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 noel 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
Thats why the lady is a tramp
I dont like crap games, with barons and earls
Wont go to harlem, in ermine and pearls
Wont dish the dirt, with the rest of the girls
Thats why the lady is a tramp
I like the free, fresh wind in her hair
Life without care
Im broke, its ok
Hate california, its cold and its damp
Thats why the lady is a tramp
I go to coney, the beach is devine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
I find a winchell, and read every line
Thats why the lady is a tramp
I like a prizefight, that isnt a fake
I love the rowing, on central park lake
I go to opera and stay wide awake
Thats why the lady is a tramp
I like the green grass under my shoes
What can I lose, Im flat, thats that
Im alone when I lower my lamp
Thats why the lady is a tramp
Transcribed by todd peach
########################
A few additional verses from the ella in berlin cd:
Girls get massages, they cry and they moan
Tell slender ella to leave me alone
Im not so hot, but my shape is my own
Thats why the lady is a tramp
The food at the kopensky is perfect, no doubt
I couldnt tell you wha the ritz is about
Drop a nickle in, and coffee comes out
Thats why the lady is a tramp
Like the sweet, fresh, rain in my face
Diamonds and lace, no got, so what? !
For frank sinatra, I whistle and stamp
Thats why the lady is a tramp
Shes a hobo
Shes a scamp
Shes a no-good kinda tramp
Thats why the lady is a tramp
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tramp On The Street
(grady cole & hazel cole, kinky friedman)
Only a tramp was lazarus sad fate
He who lay down by the rich man s gate.
He begged for some crumbs from the rich man to eat,
He was only a tramp found dead on the street.
If jesus he comes on and knocks on your door
Will he find love and kindness or hatred and war ?
Will you turn him away with nothing to eat ?
Will you leave him to die like a tramp on the street ?
Poor jewboy you ve rambled this cold world alone
Just a-prayin that heaven is no place like home.
May the good lord he bless you and keep you in health
And remember that jesus was a jewboy hisself.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tramp On The Street
(grady cole & hazel cole, kinky friedman)
Only a tramp was lazarus sad fate
He who lay down by the rich man s gate.
He begged for some crumbs from the rich man to eat,
He was only a tramp found dead on the street.
If jesus he comes on and knocks on your door
Will he find love and kindness or hatred and war ?
Will you turn him away with nothing to eat ?
Will you leave him to die like a tramp on the street ?
Poor jewboy you ve rambled this cold world alone
Just a-prayin that heaven is no place like home.
May the good lord he bless you and keep you in health
And remember that jesus was a jewboy hisself.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tramp
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
Turned up collar and worn out shoes
He doesnt care cause he hasnt got nothing to lose
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
No companion to take him home
His only friends are the kind that just leave him alone
No one knows just how lonely his life has been
In a world that lives in a dream
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wallaby Brigade
You often have been told of regiments brave and bold,
But we are the bravest in the land;
We're called the Tag-rag Band, and we rally in Queensland,
We are members of the Wallaby Brigade.
Tramp, tramp, tramp across the borders,
The swagmen are rolling up, I see.
When the shearing's at an end we'll go fishing in a bend.
Then hurrah! for the Wallaby Brigade.
When you are leaving camp, you must ask some brother tramp
If there are any jobs to be had,
Or what sort of a shop that station is to stop
For a member of the Wallaby Brigade.
You ask me if they want men, you ask for rations then,
If they don't stump up a warning should be made;
To teach them better sense—why, "Set fire to their fence"
Is the war cry of the Wallaby Brigade.
The squatters thought us done when they fenced in all their run,
But a prettier mistake they never made;
You've only to sport your dover and knock a monkey over
There's cheap mutton for the Wallaby Brigade.
Now when the shearing's in our harvest will begin,
Our swags for a spell down will be laid;
But when our cheques are drank we will join the Tag-rag rank,
Limeburners in the Wallaby Brigade.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 2)
The smoke from his pipe
rose up like a small cloud.
For a long time afterwards, t
he fire in the barn
was referred to as a ghost fire.
The next ghost fire happened
almost six months later to the day
in the midst of the summer sun.
A passing tramp had rested
for a while in a field
and fell asleep against a tree
as the grass around him suddenly came alive
with flames that burnt close to his feet.
The local Constable was riding passed
saw the flames and dismounted from his bike.
Racing into the field,
he tried to beat out the flames with his jacket.
Still the flames danced around the tramp,
whom was asleep and unaware.
The Constable yelled at him,
but the tramp did not arouse from his slumber.
The Constable looked around
and off to his left noticed a stream.
He ran across to it and filled his helmet with water.
Running back he threw the water over the tramp.
The tramp woke up startled and looked around.
He stood up and asked the Constable,
just what he thought he was doing
throwing water over him.
Watch out for the fire
the Constable shouted back.
The tramp scratched his head
and asked what he was talking about.
The fire, the fire, the Constable replied.
What fire? The tramp asked.
It was only then that the Constable realised
that the fire was no longer there.
He was mystified how it disappeared.
It was about six months after that,
another ghost fire occurred
in the very Inn where I was staying.
The bar was crowded
when suddenly against one of the walls
a fire started and seemed to burn ferociously.
The first thing the customers did
was to start throwing their drinks against the wall
in hope to dampen the flames.
They met with little success
and the fire brigade was called.
The bar was evacuated
and the firemen came in with their hoses,
which like the drinks had no success on the flames.
As with all the other incidents
the fire raged for several hours
before dying away of its own accord.
The investigation that followed
found nothing had been burnt or scorched.
There seemed no earthly reason
for the mysterious fires that engulfed things,
but never harmed any of them.
Then last month the burning bush began.
When it was discovered,
an attempt was made to extinguish it,
but failed like the ones before.
Presently each night ever since
the bush ignites itself and burns for several hours
before disappearing again.
Oliver paused for a few moments,
stroked his chin
and puffed a couple of times on his pipe.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bathed In War's Perfume
BATHED in war's perfume--delicate flag!
(Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,)
O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a
beautiful woman!
O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships
they arm with joy!
O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!
O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks!
Flag like the eyes of women.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Highway Chile
Yeah, his guitar slung across his back
His dusty boots is his cadillac
Flamin hair just a blowin in the wind
Aint seen a bed in so long its a sin
He left home when he was seventeen
The rest of the world he had longed to see
But everybody knows the boss
A rolling stone who gathers no moss
But youd probably call him a tramp
But it goes a little deeper than that
Hes a highway chile, yeah
Now some people say he had a girl back home
Who messed around and did him pretty wrong
They tell me it kinda hurt him bad
Kinda made him feel pretty sad
I couldnt say what went through his mind
Anyway, he left the world behind
But everybody knows the same old story,
In love and war you cant lose in glory
Now youd probably call him a tramp
But I know it goes a little deeper than that
Hes a highway chile
Walk on brother, yeah
One more brother
His old guitar slung across his back
His dusty boots is his cadillac
Flamin hair just a blowin in the wind
Aint seen a bed in so long its a sin
Now you may call him a tramp
But I know it goes a little deeper than that
Hes a highway chile
Walk on brother
Dont let no one stop you
Highway chile
Yeah yeah yeah
Highway chile
Go on down the highway
Highway chile
Yeah yeah yeah
Highway chile
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady Is A Tramp (Live)
(Richard Rodgers/Lorentz Hart)
I get too hungry for dinner at eight
I like the theatre but never come late
I never bother with people I hate
That's why the lady is a tramp
I like the 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 that cool fresh wind in my hair
Life without care
I'm broke, it's oke!
Hate california
It's cold and it's damp
That's why the lady is a tramp
I get too hungry for dinner at eight
I like the theatre but never come late
I never bother with people I hate
That's why the lady is a tramp
I like the 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 that cool fresh wind in my hair
Life without care
I'm broke, it's oke!
Hate california
It's cold and it's damp
That's why the lady is a tramp
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!