You can sing of the maid
Who, in faultless attire, Rides out in her curtained coupé; Her robes are exquisitely fashioned by Worth-- At eve they are décolleté; But I, I will sing of a maiden more fair, More innocent, too, I opine; You can choose from society's crust, if you will, But the girl with the jersey is mine.
I know her by all that is good, kind and true, This modest young maiden I name; I've walked with her, talked with her, Danced with her, too, And found that my heart was aflame; I've written her letters, and small billet-doux, Reavealing my love in each line: You can drink to your slim, satin-bodiced gazelle, But the girl with the jersey is mine.