She gets too hungry for dinner at eight.
Loves the theater,
but she never runs in there late.
She never bothers, honey, with people she hates.
That's why the lady is a champ.
Doesn't like dice games with barons or earls.
She won't go to Harlem in hermits and pearls.
She will not dish that dirt with the rest of those girls.
That is why this chick is a champ.
I see.
He loves the free,
fine, lovely wind in her hair.
Life without care.
She's broke,
but it's OK.
This life's California.
It's cold and it's damp.
That's why the lady is a tramp.
No matter what they lay on her,
she only does what she wants to.
And that's why they call a girl a tramp.
She gets too hungry to wait for dinner at eight.
She loves the theater, but she never comes late.
She never bothers,
baby,
with some bums she would hate.
That is why this chick is a champ.
Doesn't like dice games with sharpies and frauds.
No, she won't go to Harlem in Lincolns or Ford.
She won't dish that dirt with the rest of those broads.
Say what?
That's why this chick, she's a champ.
She loves that free, fine,
fresh wind in her hair.
Life without care.
She's broke.
What the hell?
This life's California.
Too crowded and damp.
That's why the lady.
That's why this chick is a champ.