People say a roving woman is likely not to be better than she ought to be; so, when I stray away from where I’ve got to be, someone always takes me home.
A lady never should habituate saloons, and that is where I find myself on many afternoons. But just as I begin to blow away the foam, someone tips his hat to me and takes me home.
People say a roving woman is likely not to be better than she ought to be; so, when I stray away from where I’ve got to be, someone always takes me home.
Now, poker is a game a lady shouldn’t play, and every floatin’ poker game just seems to float my way. But long before I’ve lost a thing besides my comb, someone tips his hand to me and takes me home.
Don’t see why they always do it - can’t be vanity; must be sheer humanity - when some kind soul remarks with great urbanity: 'Lady, let me take you home.'
Of course, there’s bound to be some little aftermath that makes a pleasant ending for the straight and narrow path. And as I go to sleep, I cannot help but think how glad I am that I was saved from cards and drink.
People say a roving woman is likely not to be better than she ought to be; so, when I stray, there’s positively got to be someone there to take me home.