My Little Conette

 

 

Oh, where—oh where is my little Conette? 

Has anyone seen her? Tell me!

Does my amourette  roam

When she’s absent from home?

My common sense tells me that I shouldn’t fret;

My conscience then tells me forgive and forget,

But I constantly dwell on my little coquette:

Is she flirting, and so hurting me?

Oh, where—oh, where is my little Conette?

Does she care not one tittle for me?

 

Has anyone seen my little Conette?

Has anyone seen her? Tell me!

Can my joy and my pride

Be so coy as to hide?

She’s a bonnie blond thing in her own little class

With her tawny brown skin (sigh) the color of brass,

And her brawny long limbs which at length surpass

—Into assets—as fine as can be!

She weighs no more than pretty, my fine gentry lass,

And at twenty, stands five/ten and three.

 

Oh, how can I tell her, my little Conette,

I adore her, how can I? Tell me!

I think she’s just swell,

But I suffer as well:

Is she dating that muscleman down at the gym?

No, that cannot be why she is getting so slim.

But what if I’m wrong—and she’s right there—with him?

In a sweat!  oh, Conette, pity me!

Tell me if she philanders, my little Conette,

Oh, tell me, Miss Landers, tell me! 

 

Oh, what shall I do without little Conette?

Oh, what shall I do now if she

Has departed and gone

Will my heart still go on?

I know, I’ll just call up my little Conette,

Just give her a ring on her little phonette?

Or one on her finger?—oh, heart, better yet!

—Oh, how happy she’d certainly be!

And if I don’t call up my little Conette?...

Oh, it’s certain—my pet’ll phone me!

 

But my phone keeps on not ringing all of the time,

And it’s always Conette who is not on the line;

If I’d just known her number—or she had known mine

—Or my name!  Oh, Conette, pity me!

I grow sadder now yet to think we’ve never met.

What a shame! oh, Conette!… love me!