Society Woman:
I met him at a party just a couple of years ago.
He was rather over-hearty and ridiculous
But as I'd seen him on the Screen 
He cast a certain spell
I basked in his attraction for a couple of hours or so,
His manners were a fraction too meticulous,
If he was real or not I couldn't tell
But like a silly fool, I fell.

Mad about the boy,
I know it's stupid to be mad about the boy,
I'm so ashamed of it
But must admit
The sleepless nights I've had about the boy.
On the Silver Screen
He melts my foolish heart in every single scene.
Although I'm quite aware
That here and there
Are traces of the cad about the boy,
Lord knows I'm not a fool girl,
I really shouldn't care,
Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl
In the flurry of her first affair.
Will it ever cloy?
This odd diversity of misery and joy,
I'm feeling quite insane 
And young again
And all because I'm mad about the boy.

School Girl:
Mad about the boy,
It's simply scrumptious to be mad about the boy.
I know that quite sincerely
Houseman really
Wrote The Shropshire Lad about the boy.
In my English prose
I've done a tracing of his forehead and his nose
And there is, honour bright,
A certain slight
Effect of Galahad about the boy,
I've talked to Rosie Hooper,
She feels the same as me,
She says that Gary Cooper
Doesn't thrill her to the same degree.
In Can Love Destroy?
When he meets Garbo in a suit of corduroy,
He gives a little frown
And knocks her down,
Oh dear, oh dear, I'm mad about the boy.

Cockney:
Mad about the boy,
I know I'm potty but I'm mad about the boy.
He sets me 'eart on fire
With love's desire.
In fact I've got it bad about the boy.
When I do the rooms
I see ’is face in all the brushes and the brooms.
Last week I strained me back
And got the sack
And ’ad a row with Dad about the boy.
I'm finished with Navarro, 
I'm tired of Richard Dix, 
I'm pierced by Cupid's arrow
Every Wednesday from four to six.
'Ow I should enjoy
To let 'im treat me like a plaything or a toy.
I'd give my all to him
And crawl to him,
So 'elp me Gawd, I'm mad about the boy.

Tart:
It seems a little silly
For a girl of my age and weight
To walk down Piccadilly
In a haze of love.
It ought to take a good deal more to get a bad girl down,
I should have been exempt, for
My particular kind of Fate
Has taught me such contempt for
Every phase of love,
And now I've been and spent my last half-crown
To weep about a painted clown.
Mad about the boy,
It's pretty funny but I'm mad about the boy,
He has a gay appeal
That makes me feel
There’s maybe something sad about the boy.
Walking down the street,
His eyes look out at me from people that I meet,
I can't believe it's true
But when I'm blue
In some strange way I'm glad about the boy.
I'm hardly sentimental,
Love isn't so sublime,
I have to pay my rental
And I can't afford to waste much time.
If I could employ
A little magic that would finally destroy
This dream that pains me
And enchains me
But I can't because I'm mad about the boy.