They don’t ogle a man
O’er the top of their fan,
Till his heart’s in a flame, his heart’s in a flame
But though bashful and shy,
They’ve a look in their eye
That just comes to the same, just comes to the same.
No mantillas they sport,
But a petticoat short
Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best,
And a leg—but, O murther!