Tallulah worked the town saloon, when she felt bored and naughty,
Weary miners washed away the mountain dust.
Her hair was red, her eyes were green, her jewelry, big and gaudy,
A dancehall girl who dealt in booze and lust.
Tallulah was a beauty, there's no question about that,
Pulses racing, when she walked into the room.
The sound of rustling petticoats, sprayed with French cologne,
Flaring nostrils breathing in her sweet perfume.
Tallulah danced the can-can, taking over center stage,
After all, who could compare to this much class?
Every miners eyes, watched every move she made, in all her glory,
Calloused hands reached for the bottle, salt and glass.
This much woman rarely traveled to this place of gold rush fever,
Where morals were as hard to find as veins,
Running through the caverns, hidden deep inside the black,
Driving empty-handed men to go insane.
But then there was the old saloon, they called it Dawson's Place,
Where for just two bits, a dance and drink were yours,
Except for Miss Tallulah, she danced only on the stage,
The exceptions paid and watched behind closed doors.
Tallulah tired of many things and this town was the first,
Its cash flow came unto a sudden halt.
Into Tallulah's velvet pouch, gold nuggets, cold and heavy,
Locked up inside Tallulah's private vault.
She left that broken, dusty town, packed up her horse and buggy,
Laden with her velvet pouch of gold,
Heading for another town, where men and booze were plenty,
To entertain, to gain new riches stold.
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