How he sees the world is so pure
But he’ll never see me; I’m a rogue;
Perhaps he might have, if I were a lady
But sadly I still look like a tramp
A raucous dog without a good man
This business smells as bad as the trash
Perhaps it’s what he thinks I am—trash—
Nothing good and certainly not pure…
But somewhere inside he must be a man!
And see beyond my exterior that is a rogue,
Beyond their words that I’m a tramp,
And see beneath it all that I am a fine lady.
A woman, a refined young lady—
One who could turn away from all this trash!
Who he could fight for, against those who called her a tramp!
Who could be his love, one who could be Pure…
Who could give up this life as a Rogue,
That was all she knew before she met the man.
Yes he could bring her from the dark and be her man,
And she could light his days as his lady!
They’d run away together, just go rogue—
And together they’d help the trash,
Who only ever wanted to be pure,
But who, without their two loving hearts, would remain a tramp.
Yes, she’d feed, bathe, and love the tramp
Just as she had been loved by her man
And they’d make them pure
As pure as the finest lady
And they climb from the trash
And denounce, like she had, the life of a rogue
She’d help them become rogues of the rogue
Purse pets instead of tramps
Recyclables instead of trash
Young gentlemen instead of a raucous man
And women instead of Night Ladies
New and, with hope, pure.
But to pull her from the trash she needed the Man
Who’d hold her tramp hand until she was a Lady;
Who’d love the rogue until she was pure.
