I go to Coney, the beach is divine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
I find a Winchell, and read every line
That's why the lady is a tramp

I love 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 love the free, fresh wind in my hair
Life without care, I'm broke, it's o'k
For Frank Sinatra I whistle and stamp
That's why the lady is a tramp

I love 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