By the old and gilded ball room, lookin' only at Back Bay,

There's a hostess line a-waitin' and a-try-in' to look gay;

For the wind is in the trombones and the saxophones they say,

"Come you back, you Harvard stage line, come you back to old Back Bay!"

Come you back to old Back Bay,

Where they turn night into day;

Can't you hear the bass drum boomin' in the ball rooms of Back Bay?

On the road to old Back Bay

Where the bean and codfish play,

And the dawn comes up to wonder at the dancing in Back Bay!

'Er evening dress was velvet, and 'er firzzy 'air was gold,

And 'er pink brassiere was missing, 'er decolletage was bold,

And I seed 'er first a-smokin', and a-lougin' languidly,

And a-wastin' high power sex appeal on a Freshman coterie.

Bloomin' Freshmen,--little kids--

Wonder how they got their bids;

Plucky lot she cared for Freshmen when I wandered in their midst.

On the road to old Back Bay--

When the cut-ins came too frequent, she would link 'er arm with mine.

And we'd go out to the card room and I'd listen to 'er line.

With 'er feet up on the sofa and 'er 'ands be 'ind 'er 'ead,

She distracted one's attention from the useless things she said.

You can see the things she said

In the magazines you've read,

And the stuff of Frederick Lonsdale which is butter for the bred

On the road to old Back Bay--

But that's all above behind long ago and far away,

And now I'm fooled no longer by the wisdom in Back Bay,

And I'm learnin' 'ere in Cambridge what the five-year student tells,

If you've 'eard the deb a-callin', you won't never 'edd naught else.

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

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.

For the printed cards are callin and the Freshmen now are gay.

But they'll learn a sadder lesson at the parties in Back Bay

On the road to old Back Bay,

You may flunk out on the way,

O it's paved with good intentions is the road to old Back Bay

On the road to old Back Bay,

Where the Boston matrons pray,

Pray for 'usbands for their daughters, out of Harvard cross the way