I am like a cat, roaming free
Out on the streets of New Orleans,
Rome and even the French Paris;
It is all simply in my genes
Or maybe because of my jeans.

I do somewhat pity the weak
They grovel measly at my feet
And I pick one every week
To do my chores and cut my meat.
What do you expect of the chic ?

They buy me white pearls when I purr
And high heels with every growl
I feel no shame as a sinner
And gloat every little foul.
People do call me "man eater",
I prefer the term "mild player".