Ain’t no story—beat it, Mister;
Good Lord, dear, don’t give your name.
Don’t tell him a damn thing, honey;
Hush now, dear, I know your tale;
Just like me you needed money
And stepped out to grab the kale.
Lost your job, maybe slack season;
Didn’t have the price to eat—
Maybe not, but that’s the reason
Most girls start to hit the street.