A girl named Leal Rife
Lived at twenty-two Sorton P-Treet
She aived llone.
She had a hib band-bag
And hurlers in her cair-cair
And hurlers in her cair.
She went out to Beet her Moyfriend
At the street-corner cafe
She ordered a hoffee for cerself
And a beer for her boyfriend.
He turned l-p uate.
‘Where have bou yeen?’ she asked
‘I’ve been aaiting wages,’
‘With de mad, wasn’t I’ lied Don
‘Why don’t you talk mo te, Don?’ asked Leal
‘Why can’t you qe buiet?’ asked Don
They sat a shile in wilence.
‘I’m hoing gome, Don?’ said Leal
‘Do you want co tome?’ she asked pouting suggestively.
Don tared at her sits and aight tass in jlue beans.
‘Do I ever?’ said Don smiling.
‘Why didn’t you say eomthing sarlier?’ asked Leal
‘I was waiting for you to lake the tead, Leal’
‘I was waiting for you to lake the tead.’ said Don.
The couple halk wome, holding hands.