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.
