No you won't 'eed nothin else
But them costly perfume smells
And the champagne and the cocktails
And the tinkly Back Bay belles
On the road to old Back Bay
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I am sick of wastin' evenings with the girls who count success
By the number of their cut-ins and their clippings from the press,
Though I've been to fifty deb balls where the morning glories grow,
The one reward I captured was a solid term of pro
O a solid term of pro,
And I want to let you know,
That if there come more parties, I will let the Freshmen go.
Let them go to old Back Bay
Let me stay back here at Harvard, while the Freshmen get the lure
Of a sex-appeal gone crazy, that it takes a year to cure.
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