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 it's laughter, the next it's a cry- You can't understand her, however you try; But there's one thing about her which everyone knows- A woman's not dressed till she powders her nose. You never can tell what a woman will say; She's a law to herself every hour of the day. It keeps a man guessing to know what to do, And mostly he's wrong when his guessing is through; But this you can bet on, 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 a ball game, a dance or a show, There's one thing about her I know that I know- At weddings or funerals, dinners of taste, You can bet that her hand will dive into her waist, And every few minutes she'll strike up a pose, And the whole world must wait till she powders her nose.