I go to Coney, the beach is divine I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine I follow Winchell, and read every line That's why the lady is a tramp I love a prized fight, that isn't a fake I love the rowing on Central Park lake I go to opera, and stay wide awake That's why the lady is a tramp I love the free, fresh wind in my hair Life without care I'm broke, it's oak For Frank Sinatra I whistle and stand That's why the lady is a tramp I love the free, fresh wind in my hair Life without care I'm broke, it's oak Hate Calfornia it's cold and it's damp That's why the lady is a tramp
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