You don't want to marry me honey,
Though just to hear you ask me is sweet;
If you did you'd regret it tomorrow
For I'm only a girl of the street.
Time was when I'd gladly have listened,
Before I was tainted with shame,
But it wouldn't be fair to you honey;
Men laugh when they mention my name.
Though just to hear you ask me is sweet;
If you did you'd regret it tomorrow
For I'm only a girl of the street.
Time was when I'd gladly have listened,
Before I was tainted with shame,
But it wouldn't be fair to you honey;
Men laugh when they mention my name.
Back there on the farm in Nebraska,
I might have said yes to you then,
But I thought the world was a playground;
Just teeming with Santa Claus men.
So I left the old home for the city,
To play in its mad, dirty whirl,
Never knowing how little of pity,
It holds for a slip of a girl.
You think I'm still good-looking honey!
But no I am faded and spent,
Even Helen of Troy would look seedy,
If she followed the pace I went.
But that day I came in from the country,
With my hair down my back in a curl;
Through the length and the breadth of the city,
There was never a prettier girl.
I soon got a job in the chorus,
With nothing but looks and a form,
I had a new man every evening,
And my kisses were thrilling and warm.
I might have sold them for a fortune,
To some old sugar daddy with dough,
But youth called to youth for its lover,
There was plenty that I didn't know.
Then I fell for the "line" of a "junker",
A slim devotee of hop,
And those dreams in the juice of a poppy;
Had got me before I could stop.
But I didn't care while he loved me,
Just to lie in his arms was a delight,
But his ardour grew cold and he left me;
In a Chinatown "hop-joint" one night.
Well I didn't care then what happened,
A Chink took me under his wing,
And down there in a hovel of hell -- I
laboured for Hop and Ah-Sing
Oh no I'm no longer a "Junker",
The police came and got me one day,
And I took the one cure that is certain,
That island out there in the bay.
Don't spring that old gag of reforming,
A girl hardly ever goes back,
Too many are eager and waiting;
To guide her feet off of the track.
A man can break every commandment
And the world will still lend him a hand,
Yet a girl that has loved, but un-wisely
Is an outcast all over the land.
You see how it is don't you honey,
I'd marry you now if I could,
I'd go with you back to the country,
But I know it won't do any good,
For I'm only a poor branded woman
And I can't get away from the past.
Good-bye and God bless you for asking
But I'll stick out now till the last.
Bonnie Parker, better known from Bonnie and Clyde fame
For more of her incredible poetry, see http://texashideout.tripod.com/poem.html
Of how he lived and died
If you’re still in need of something to read
Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow Gang,
I’m sure you all have read
how they rob and steal and those who squeal
are usually found dying or dead.
There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups
They’re not so ruthless as that
Their nature is raw, they hate all law
Stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers
They say they are heartless and mean
But I say this with pride, I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around and taking him down
and locking him up in a cell
‘Til he said to me, “I’ll never be free,
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.”
The road was so dimly lighted
There were no highway signs to guide
But they made up their minds if all roads were blind
They wouldn’t give up ’til they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer
Sometimes you can hardly see
But it’s fight man to man, and do all you can
For they know they can never be free.
From heartbreak some people have suffered
From weariness some people have died
But all in all, our troubles are small
‘Til we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas
And they have no clue or guide
If they can’t find a fiend, just wipe the slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There’s two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow Mob
They had no hand in the kidnap demand
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy
“I wish old Clyde would get jumped
In these hard times we’d get a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped.”
The police haven’t got the report yet
But Clyde called me up today
He said, “Don’t start any fights, we aren’t
working nights, we’re joining the NRA.”
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide
Where the women are kin, and men are men
And they won’t stool on Bonnie and Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent a nice flat
About the third night they’re invited to fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.
They don’t think they’re tough or desperate
They know the law always wins
They’ve been shot at before, but they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Some day they’ll go down together
And they’ll bury them side by side
To few it’ll be grief, to the law a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.
