| I was born on a thousand acres of Oklahoma land
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| Nothing grew on the thousand acres for it was gravel and sand
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| One day father started digging in a field
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| Hoping to find some soil
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| He dug and he dug and what do you think?
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| Oil, oil, oil
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| The money rolled in and I rolled out with a fortune piled so high
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| Washington was my destination
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| And now who am I?
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| I’m the chosen party giver
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| For the White House clientele
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| And they know that I deliver
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| What it takes to make 'em jell
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| And in Washington I’m known by one and all
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| As the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
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| They could go to Elsa Maxwell
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| When they had an axe to grind
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| They could always grind their axe well
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| At the parties she designed
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| Now the hatchet grinders all prefer to call
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| On the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
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| I’ve a great big bar and good caviar
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| Yes, the best that can be found
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| And a large amount in my bank account
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| When election time comes 'round
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| Entertaining vodka drinkers
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| Is a job they give to me
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| Making nice guys out of stinkers
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| Seems to be my cup of tea
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| What they really need behind the iron wall
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| Is the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
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| In the handbag that I’ll carry
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| there’s a precious little note
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| to their highnesses from Harry
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| introducing me he wrote
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| «I'll appreciate a favor large or small
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| For the hostess, who’s the hostest, with the mostes' on the ball» |