Song Lyrics

That's why, that's why the lady
That's why that's why the lady
That's why, that's why the lady is a tramp
Tramp
Hm, ooh

She gets too hungry for, dinner at eight, now
Hates the theatre but, never comes late
She never bothers, with the people she hates
That's why, that's why the lady is tramp

Don't go to crap games, with the barons and earls
Won't go to Harlem, in ermines and pearls
She won't dish the dirt with the rest of the girls
That's why, that's why the lady is a tramp
She loves the free, fresh, wind, in her hair
Life without care
She's broke, and that's ok
Hates California, it's so smuggy and damp
That's why the lady is a tramp, now

She gets massages, she cries and she moans
Tells Slenderella just to leave her alone
She's not so hot, but her shape is her own
That's why, that's why the lady is a tramp
The food at Sardees is great no doubt
But she doesn't know what, motels all about
She puts in a dime, and some ice comes out
That's why the lady is a tramp

She loves the free fresh wind in her face
Diamonds and lace
No God, so what
For Rod Steiger she whistles and stamps
That's why the lady is a tramp, now
She don't know the reason for, cocktails at five
She don't like flyin' baby, but I'm glad I'm alive
I crave affection baby but not when I drive
That's why the lady is a tramp, now

She flew down to London and left me behind
I missed the crowning but, I didn't mind
She won't play Scarlet and Gone with the Wind
(It's got to rhyme)
That's why the lady is a tramp, now
I like to hang her hat, wherever I please
And fly, with a breeze
And no dough, hi ho
She thinks that Marciano was still a great big champ
That's why the lady is a tramp, now

She goes down to Coney and she thinks the beach is divine
She goes to the ball games and thinks the Yankees are fine
Why she reads Walter Winchell and understands every line
That's why the lady is a tramp, now
She likes do to go rowing down Central Park Lake
She digs a price fight, that isn't fake
Why she even goes to the opera, and stays wide awake
That's why the lady is a tramp, now
I like the green grass, under my shoes
Now what can I lose
She's flat, and that's that
She's all alone when I lower my lamp
That's why the lady, that's why the lady
That's why the lady is a tramp

Lorenz Hart, Richard Rodgers