Phyllis Steen

I am just a poor boy,
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my mom's silver,
On a belly full of gin and false promises.
All wigs and vests,
Still, a man fears what he cannot wear . . . And dresses in the rest. . .

Lie, la, lie . . . lie, la, lie, lie, lie, la, lie . .