Writer(s): rodgers/hartShe gets too hungry, for dinner at eightShe loves the theater, but doesn’t come lateShe’d never bother, with people she’d hateThat’s why the lady is a trampDoesn’t like crap games, with barons and earlsWon’t go to harlem, in ermine and pearlsWon’t dish the dirt, with the rest of those girlsThat’s why the lady is a trampShe loves the free, fresh wind in her hairLife without careShe’s broke, but it’s o’kShe hates california, it’s cold and it’s dampThat’s why the lady is a trampDoesn’t like dice games, with sharpies and fraudsWon’t go to harlem, in lincolns or fordsWon’t dish the dirt, with the rest of those broadsThat’s why the lady is a tramp