| She longed to be a lady,
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| When she was just a child;
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| But where the grass was greener, Lord
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| She done her growin' wild.
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| Then she tried to spread her tender wings,
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| And never left the ground;
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| So she turned to dreams at sweet sixteen
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| And woke up coming down.
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| But she tries in her way climbing higher,
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| And she dies each time she fails;
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| So give her a home, or leave her alone;
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| The lady’s not for sale.
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| She ain’t ashamed to show her soul,
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| So she’ll sell it for a song.
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| But free don’t mean she’s easy
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| Or right for going wrong.
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| So let her be the lady, Lord,
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| She wants so bad to be;
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| And let her win the gentle man
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| That she was born to please.
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| 'Cause she tries in her way climbing higher,
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| And she dies each time she fails;
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| So give her a home, or leave her alone;
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| The lady’s not for sale. |