There was a New Woman, as I've heard tell,
And she rode a bike with a horrible bell,
She rode a bike in a masculine way,
And she had a spill on the Queen's highway.
While she lay stunned, up came Doctor Stout,
And he cast a petticoat her "knickers" about,
To hide the striped horrors which bagged at the knees.
When the New Woman woke, she felt strange and ill at ease;
She began to wonder those skirts for to spy,
And cried, "Oh, goodness gracious! I'm sure this isn't I!
But if it is I, as I hope it be,
I know a little vulgar boy, and he knows me;
And if it is I, he will jeer and rail,
But if it isn't I, why, to notice me he'll fail."
So off scorched the New Woman, all in the dark,
But as the little vulgar boy her knickers failed to mark,
He was quite polite, and she began to cry,
"Oh! Jimmy doesn't cheek me, so I'm sure this isn't I!"
