On the small wage she earns she dare not be too gay!

A loud saloon flings golden light

Athwart the wet and greasy way,

Where, every happy Sunday night,

We meet in mood of holiday.

She wears a dress of claret glow

That's thinly frothed with bead and lace.

She buys this lace in Jasmine Row,

A spot, you know,

Where luxuries of lace for a mere nothing go.