| Oh, the Cap Street girls
|
| With their pretty curls and bows
|
| And the lonely lights in their eyes
|
| How I long to lie
|
| On a summer’s day in there
|
| In the arms of the Cap Street girls
|
| When I was young
|
| I had thought
|
| They’re just pretty painted ladies
|
| Waving fans from their chez lounge in Devans
|
| But then I grew old
|
| And I learned
|
| Of the pleasures that were waiting
|
| In their powdered bosoms
|
| Bottomless
|
| It was torture for a man
|
| Should he land in the hands of the Cap Street girls
|
| Oh, the Cap Street girls
|
| Their pretty curls and bows
|
| And the lonely light in their eyes
|
| How I long to ride
|
| On a summer’s night in there
|
| In the arms of the Cap Street girls
|
| Then came the day
|
| When they came to tear down all the buildings
|
| Making way for the Cap Street fair
|
| And all the girls disappeared
|
| To Woolworth’s and Hennesey’s
|
| Selling clothes and pantyhose
|
| How it all just slipped away
|
| Still I pray for the days
|
| Of the Cap Street girls
|
| Oh, the Cap Street girls
|
| Their pretty curls and bows
|
| And the lonely light in their eyes
|
| How I long to lie
|
| On a summer’s night in there
|
| In the arms of the Cap Street girls |