You're the ol' lady from the society pages From a small town somewhere I used to be You owned the paper and a bunch of other stuff That didn't appeal to me OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY The hospital plans (yer brother drew 'em all) You ran the paper 'n the Charity Ball Every day on the third or fourth page There you was . . . you was quite the rage Somehow, you was all kinda cheap 'n wrong Just like in a lotta small towns Where folks like you Hang around too long And pa** out jobs to yer relatives 'n such So you all keeps a lot, 'cept but nobody else Ever gets too much . . . to speak of . . So what? What can you say? So long as the trash gets picked up So long as the trash gets locked up Just so the trash don't stack up Some day you won't be on page three Or page four anymore OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY OL' LADY, OL' LADY By the grace of God you had a son He's the one and only one He grew up and by and by He came to be a Beautiful Guy