American Old Time Song Lyrics: 50 Yevette

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 50

YEVETTE.
Copyright, KM, by T. B. Harms & Co.
Words and Music by John L. Golden.

I want to tell of a sweet mamselle, a gay coquette:
She's on the stage, she's all the rage, her name's Yevette;
She comes from far across the sea,
She's French, as French as French can be,
And that is just what troubles me. Yevette.
A stack of gold, so I am told, Is paid Yevette,
For which she chants what's called in France a "chansonette."
Folks nndge and wink and say, "How nice!"
Yet I must sit as cold as ice:
I can't "comprenavoo" your spice, Yevette.
Oh, Yevette! oh, Yevette!
You are the spiciest importation
Sent from gay "Puree "as yet;
You swing your arms like that, my heart toes pit-a-pat,
And oh, how I wonder what on earth you're driving at!

Chorus.
Oh, Yevette! oh, Yevette!
I understand no word of what you say;
And so, you little pet, Yevette,
I'll die with one regret, Yevette,
I cannot "Parley-voo Fransay."

I went to hear her, and I sat in the parket:
When she appeared I yelled out loud, "Bravo, Yevette!"
And then I gave a knowing nudge
At a fat Frenchman, who didn't budge:
I'd have him know that I could judge Yevette.
She sang a funny thing about a "Pom-de-tear,"
And then she looked so naughty that, I do declare,
I laughed out loud In knowing glee,
And yelled until I couldn't see,
When the fat Frenchman grabbed hold of me-right there.
Oh, Yevette! oh, Yevette!
Now how the deuce was I to know
That "pom-de-tear" meant potatoe?
Be swung his arms like that, my heart went pit-a-pat;
The next I remember was, that in the mud I sat.-Chorus.

'Twas after nine I went to dine at a buffet:
I asked the waitress, "What's your name?" Said she, "Yevette."
I started! I was scarce to blame,
For there was that confounded name,
Though, to be sure, 'twas not the same Yevette.
An idea! I have got a chance I'll use. you bet!
I'll spring a few French phrases on this young Grisette.
I said, "Mongshare-Donna-Madoo pain?"
She gave a look of deep disdain,
And something struck my head like rain-'twas wet.
Oh, Yevette! oh, Yevette!
She held a plate of soup, you see,
She dropped the whole darn thing on me;
She swung her arms like that, my heart went pit-a-pat,
When she said, "Come off yer perch, you don't know where
you're at." -Cho.