One fine day I chanced to stray
on a little side street in old Bombay
and met a sentimental oriental,
She saw me and I saw she
had a manner to bold and much too free,
Her eyes were positively detrimental,
When I asked about this gay coquette,
I discovered to my regret;
CHORUS:
She's the girl friend of the whirling dervish,
She's the sweetest one he's found,
But ev'ry night in the mellow moon-light,
When he's out dervishing with all his might,
she gives him the run around,
All the boy friends of the whilring dervish
are his best friends to his face,
But there's no doubt, when he isn't about,
they all come hurrying to take her out,
She leads him a dizzy pace,
He dreams of a Hindu honeymoon,
He doesn't dream that ev'ry night when he
goes out to make an honest rupee,
She steps out to make a lotta whoopee.
Oh! the love song of the whirling dervish
has a sweet and tender sound,
But will he burn if he ever should learn
that while he's doing her a real good turn,
She gives him the run-around.
She's got a nervish,
throwin' him a curvish,
Which of course he doesn't deservish,
Poor old whirling dervish!