She's One of the Bowery Girls, I'm One of the Boys.
Copyright. 1896, by T. B. Harms & Co.
Words by John Ernest MoOann. Music by Wm. Jerome.
After supper, ev'ry night, when the sun is out of sight,
A most interesting couple you may see
Strolling from Canal to Bond, looking very sweet and fond,
And that couple is my Sunday girl and me.
Oh, her face Is fit to kill, she's the pride of Cherry Hill,
There is nothing with her sweetness to compare;
And there's no girl lives up-town that on my girl can look down,
When she walks along with me, as light as air.
She's one of the Bow'ry girls, none like her on a string of pearls;
She's up to snuff, she hales a bluff, she's none of your dolls or toys;
She's no little Red Riding Hood; she's not too new, and she's not too good;
She's one of the Bow'ry girls, and I'm one of the boys.
She's the primrose of the block, she's the flower of the flock,
She can dance and she can sing the latest songs.
At swell picnics, up the Sound, we are always to be found;
And each prize for dancing to us both belongs;
And she's always dressed so neat, from her little head to feet,
And the roses bloom all winter in her face;
Site's a jewel, she's a dream, why she's strawberries and cream;
And she's pulled my heart completely out of place.-Chorus.
As I said, her face is sweet, and her heart is hard to beat;
But there's only room enough in it for one.
All the boys on Cherry Hill tried that little heart to fill,
But the room is crowded now, the key Is gone,
I need all the room that's there, where the key Is I don't care;
And I rather think she thinks the same as me;
But she never says a word, she pretends she hasn't heard,
When I ask her if she wants to find the key.-Chorus.