The Lady Is a Tramp - Matthew Morrison

She gets too hungry, for dinner at eight

She adores the theater, but never comes late

She will never argue, with the cat she’d hate

And that is why the lady is a tramp

Won’t got to Coney, Malibu is fine

She adores the ballgame, thinks the Mets are divine

She refuses to believe that Phil Ramone’s a friend of mine

That’s why the lady is a tramp

She likes that green grass growing under her shoes

She even digs the birth of the blues

Man she’s a swinger, a humdinger

She’s all alone when she lowers the lamp

That’s why my lady is a tramp

She likes that free fresh wind in her hair

Life without care

She’s grown, but it’s old

She hates California, it’s cold and it’s damp

That’s why my lady is a tramp

That is why the lady is a tramp