||Text: In cheap, dinky togs, which you think very fine, / You try every Sunday to cut a big shine; / Of style or of beauty
you’ve nothing to speak, / But you make up your shortage with plenty of cheek. / Perhaps you imagine that people you meet
/ Don’t know what you are as you walk down the street; / If so, you’re in error to think them so green, / For you’re known
for a Shop Girl as soon as you’re seen.