came the World's Sweetest Girl--
I'm like a vision at lake side,
talking rot to the swans--
and oh how I do go
I am formed of the frilly, the feminine, the fine--
thanks to old Daddy down the anthracite mine.
three step, five;
I'm made out of honey from an old bee hive.
sleep bee, then
sink that stinger if he tries it again.
Church on Sunday, Monday do the wash.
See if it sticks or scrubs right off.
Do you think I'm pretty?
ask the swans.