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.

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