| When you go down to meet the boys at the docks
|
| With a smile on your face, feeling friendly
|
| When you’ve been dancing on the top of the table
|
| With a bottle of wine in your hand
|
| When you’re looking the guys in the eyes
|
| With a wink and a wiggle of your hips
|
| They all go «Wow! |
| What a dame!»
|
| And then you’re off again
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the soft spot
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the wine
|
| Never mind what your mother says a good girl never should allow
|
| For hey girl, your mama’s far away now
|
| Then you wake up with your head in a mess
|
| With a frown on your face, feeling guilty
|
| Hiding your legs in a pair of old jeans
|
| With a turtleneck up to your ears
|
| But as soon as you’re out in the street
|
| Where the boys look you up and look you down
|
| You hear that «Wheet-whew! |
| What a dame!»
|
| And then you’re off again
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the soft spot
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the wine
|
| Never mind what your mother says a good girl never should allow
|
| For hey girl, your mama’s far away now
|
| Don’t get lonely, no matter what you do
|
| For life is full of old maids, girl
|
| From Rio to Timbuktu
|
| So let go, don’t feel ashamed
|
| Let your worries go far, far away
|
| For you know that you’ll be with the boys today
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the soft spot
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the wine
|
| Never mind what your mother says a good girl never should allow
|
| For hey girl, your mama’s far away now
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the soft spot
|
| Hey girl, blame it on the wine
|
| Never mind what your mother says a good girl never should allow
|
| For hey girl, your mama’s far away now
|
| Hey girl, your mama’s far away now
|
| Hey girl, your mama’s far away now |