Lyrics:

James P. Johnson / Flournoy E. MillerYou don't act up too muchAin't got that glamour touchYou're trifling lazyAin't worth a cigarette ashLook out here mammaLook out hereYou carry me too fastYou're just my good for nothin'My sweet hunk o' trashMy, my how you soundYou're very short on looksDumb, when it comes to booksLook out, babyWatch it, honeyAnd you stay full of cornJust like a succotashWhat you want me to do in my idle momentsYou're just a good-for-nothin'But my sweet hunk o' trashLet me get a word in there honey, you running your mouthYou said I've worried you for yearsI'm just a barfly moochin' beersWhile you sweat over a hot stove slinging hashWork my fingers right down to the elbowsYes I may be good-for-nothin'But I'm still your sweet hunk o' trashFirst to admit it babyYou said I spread my love all aroundAnd with the chicks all over townBut, how can I when you keep me brokeSo I can't spend no cashYes I may be good-for-nothin'But I'm still your sweet hunk o' trashListen hear Pops,You know you lie about your youthI don't lie babyI'm just careless with the truth, that's allHow careless can you beOh, noWith all your chicksYou try to make a flashNow babyIt ain't like that, noBut you're still my good-for-nothin'My sweet hunk o' trashNow when you stay out very lateIt sure makes me mad to wait how come, baby?Cus, you come home too tiredTo raise just one eyelashWatch it babyWatch itYou're just good-for-nothin'But you're my sweet hunk o' trashYes indeed!

Billie Holiday My Sweet Hunk O'trash