The prostitute is beautiful
On the street corner over there
When her work is done
To look for a little dream
He's a strange little guy
Who knows how to play the java
But she doesn't dance it
She doesn't even look at the dance floor
Follow the nervous playing
And the artist's long, dry fingers
It gets under her skin
She's a real music freak
The prostitute is sad
On the street corner over there
He's gone off to be a soldier
When he comes back from the war
How beautiful life will be
They'll be real pashas
And every evening for her
That she hums very softly
She pictures her accordionist
Follow the nervous playing
And the artist's long, dry fingers
It gets under her skin
She's a real music freak
The prostitute is alone
On the street corner over there
Girls who sulk
Men don't want them
And too bad if she croaks
Her man will never come back
Goodbye to all the beautiful dreams
Yet her sad legs
Where there's another artist
And the dry, nervous fingers
It gets under her skin
She started to dance, to spin
To the sound of the music