Mary Jane
Ah, here we have the second spasm of the rollicking thirst emporium ditty:
Oh, she promised to meet me
When the clock struck seventeen,
At the stockyards, just three miles out of town,
Where the pig eyes and pig ears and the
Tough old Texas steers
Sell for sirloin steak at
Eighteen cents a pound.
CHORUS:
Oh, she’s my honey, my baby,
She’s maul-eyed, she’s crazy,
She’s knock-kneed, she’s pigeon-toed, she’s lame.
Although her lower teeth are phoney
From eating Swift’s bologna,
She’s my freckled face, consumptive Mary Jane.
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