Gee! girl, you’re looking sad, but it’s hardly worth your while;
You’ve heard the slander; it’s mighty bad, but hold up your
head and smile.
Keep cool, lest your hair turns grey; no matter how keen your sorrow,
The man who slandered you so to-day will slander some other to-morrow.
He is only a tiny atom of dirt, like the rest of his kind of earth;
His slanderous words may rankle and hurt, but ’twas envy
that gave them birth.
If you have no brother or kindred man, why expect to see fun?
Seek your retreat where no vultures meet, and lead your life like a nun.
You’re only a sex, and your presence vex the things that as man you know;
You’ve lost your good name, though you’re not to blame--a
vulture would have it so.
More than two thousand miles away is the class into which you were born;
The class where a man is a man each day, and your kind is
not subject of scorn.
The things called men, who bandied your name over their glasses of booze,
Who made you the butt of their poker game, have nothing
themselves to lose.
They of female kind, whom they happen to meet, do not to
your sphere;
And most of the guys that you see on the street are subject
to fits that are queer.