WHEN Maysie comes to town, there's always something doing;
'Twould take a dozen men to tell it all—
A little bit of shopping and a little bit of wooing,
A dinner and a supper and a call.
The neighbors in New Jersey call her innocent and prim,
They laugh at her, to every counry clown;
Her ways are of the oddest, but her manners always modest—
It's different when Maysie comes to town.

When Maysie comes to town, she telegraphs to Willie;
He meets her at the ferry with a cab.
Their actions and their persiflage you might consider silly,
But no one in New York is keeping tab.
The neighbors in New Jersey think she never was in love,
She's timid, and she wears a quiet gown;
Her ways are all discreetness and her smile is simple sweetness—
It's afferent when Maysie comes to town.

When Maysie comes to town, she telephones to Harry
To meet her after Willie's disappeared;
She gracefully eludes his importunities to marry.
She drinks a dry Martini, and is cheered.
The neighbors in New Jersey see no men who come to call,
(Though the postman stops at Maysie's with a frown).
Poor Maysie's "literary"; she's considered sober, very—
It's different when Maysie comes to town.

When Maysie comes to town, she has to call on Walter;
His studio's a cozy place for tea;
She has a cigarette or two, and Maysie doesn't falter
At just a friendly kiss or two—or three.
The neighbors in New Jersey think her quite too shy for men,
In passing them she casts her lashes down;
She goes alone to lectures and awakens no conjectures—
It's different when Maysie comes to town.

When Maysie comes to town, the hansom-drivers hail her.
The waiters always know her and are kind;
When Maysie leaves the city then a dozen men bewail her,
But Maysie'll come again, so never mind!
The neighbors in New Jersey, when she reappears, sedate.
Can see no sign in Maysie's eyes of brown;
She goes to song recitals and has books with learned titles—
It's different when Maysie comes to town!