Hello you straight-laced lady,

dressed in white but your shoes aren't clean.

Painted them up with polish

in the hope we can't see where you've been.

The smiling face that you've worn

to greet me rising at morning --

sent me out to work for my score.

Please me and say what it's for.

Give me the straight-laced promise

and not the pathetic lie.



Tie me down with your ribbons

and sulk when I ask you why.

Your Sunday paper voice cries

demanding truths I deny.

The bitter-sweet kiss you pretended

is offered, our affair mended.

Sossity: You're a woman.

Society: You're a woman.



All of the tears you're wasting

are for yourself and not for me.

It's sad to know you're aging

Sadder still to admit I'm free.

Your immature physical toy has grown,

too young to enjoy at last your straight-laced agreement:

woman, you were too old for me.

Sossity: You're a woman.

Society: You're a woman.