Bakelite Radio Machine: Pro-Cigarette Girl

If for no other reason than the Ruth Etting song that follows...

Cigarettes! Cigars!

I'm one of the hicks
I came here from the sticks
Trying to find the kind of fame
the name of Broadway stands for
I'm one of the fools,
I dreamt of riches and jewels
Now I awake, find my mistake
Can't get a break, Broadway's a fake.


I work in a speak that's dim and dingy
Spenders are pretenders cheap and stingy
All I smell is rotten scotch and gin, gee
Cigarettes! Cigars!

Now I know what being too darn slow means
Among the gals who never learned what no means
They ask me if I know what making dough means
Cigarettes! Cigars!

To heaven I just send up
My lonely plea
Is this where I must end up
Oh good lord answer me

Every morning when the nighttime dies out
I go home to sleep and weep my eyes out
Can't you hear a broken heart that cries out
Cigarettes! Cigars!

Camels! Chesterfields! Luckies! Cigars!

I peddle my wares to gay millionaires
To wise guys and hoboes
And sweet gals with no beaus
To misers and spenders bootleg vendors
All of them playing their trump
I won't let them maul me
And so they all call me the fool
The virgin!
The chump!

Every morning when the night shades fade out
I see all the tramps and drunks parade out
When I sing to the last one who is laid out
Cigarettes! Cigars!