She gets too hungry, for dinner at eight She adores the theater, but never comes late She will never argue, with the cat she'd hate And that is why the lady is a tramp
Won’t got to Coney, Malibu is fine She adores the ballgame, thinks the Mets are divine She refuses to believe that Phil Ramone’s a friend of mine That's why the lady is a tramp
She likes that green grass growing under her shoes She even digs the birth of the blues Man she’s a swinger, a humdinger She’s all alone when she lowers the lamp That's why my lady is a tramp
She likes that free fresh wind in her hair Life without care She’s grown, but it’s old She hates California, it’s cold and it’s damp That's why my lady is a tramp That is why the lady is a tramp