SINCE MY DAUGHTER PLAYS ON THE TYPEWRITER
Copyright, 1889, by Thos. P. Getz.
Words and Music by Thos. P. Getz.
My daughter's as fine a young girl as you'll meet
In your travels day in and day out;
But she's getting high-ton'd and she's putting on airs.
Since she has been working about.
When she comes home at night from her office
She walks in with a swing like a fighter;
And she tells the old lady to drop on herself,
Since my daughter plays on the typewriter.
She cries in her sleep, your letter's to hand,
She calls her old father esquire;
And the neighbors they shout when my daughter turns out,
There goes Bridget Typewriter Maguire.
She'll not carry her lunch in a basket no more,
And she'll not take a flask of cold day;
For she says she goes out to lunch with a fish,
'Way down to the Bon Ton Cafe.
She says that sometimes she goes out with the boss,
You can bet your sweet life he don't slight her;
For she says she can give him away to his wife,
Since my daughter plays on the typewriter.-Chorus.
She says she's a regular daisy,
Uses slang till my poor heart is sore;
She now warbles snatches from operas
Where she used to sing Peggy O'Moore.
Sure she's gone to the divil entirely.
She's bleached her hair till it is "lighter;
And I'll dance a can-can on the face of the man
That taught her to play the typewriter.-Chorus.