SHE POWDERS HER NOSE

A woman is queer,

There’s no doubt about that,

She hates to be thin,

And she hates to be fat.

One minute is a laughter,

       the next is a cry.

You can’t understand her

However you try,

But there’s one thing about her

That everyone knows,

A woman’s not dressed

Till she powders her nose.

You can’t  tell what

A woman will say.

She’s a law to herself

Every hour of the day.

If keeps a man guessing

To know what to do,

And mostly he’s wrong

When his guessing is through.

But this you can be sure of

Wherever she goes

She’ll find some occasion

To powder her nose.

I’ve studied the sex

For a number of  years;

I’ve watched her in laughter

And seen her in tears.

On her ways and her whims

I have pondered a lot.

To find what will please her

And just what will not.

But all that I’ve learned

From the start to the close,

Is that sooner or later

She’ll powder her nose.

At church or at ball games,

A dance or a show,

At weddings or funerals, dinners

       of taste,

You can be sure that her hands

Will dive into her waist

And every few minutes

She’ll strike up a pose

And the whole world must,

Till she powders her nose.