She's a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife
But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life
But when he's full of that beer-champagne
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws

And if he should wake up in some terrible dive
And he don't know if he's so-so
But he's so surprised he's alive
";Come on little honey, let me under your hive";
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws

She pads, pads around the bedroom, practicing ways to flirt
He paws, pours another drink and anything in a skirt
Anything wearing a necklace
He thinks of claws scratching his back he's
going out there he's not coming back

She's got spider-leg fingers, sharpened whenever he strays
And she carries a bird-purse, with all of her womanly ways

To be continued...