There's a lady
who's known as the lady of the night. 
On the dot of 9-00 she arrives, 
with her fiery lips and fiery hips
dressed in colours that match her eyes. 
She totters on heels as high as a hand
and makes her way down the street 
to the place that she calls her place of work 
where her clients know that she’ll be. 
In driving rain she'll be there again 
as the drivers stutter on by
not showing the punters the cold that she feels
as the rain runs off fake tanned thighs. 
She'll stand and she’ll wait and she’ll wait and she’ll stand 
drawing warmth from her cigarette
All the time hoping the punters she picks 
will turn out to be a safe bet
At the end of her day 
When the nights at an end
And her uniform waits to be cleaned
She kisses her baby asleep in his bed
Being sure not to disturb his dreams