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.