Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle—frocked.
Jim goes quell-swing of quim-poke swelled thing.
Throwing off beau things—such bull duds ain’t fun;
now’days Jim yells, “Stop haber’ run!”

Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle—frocked.
Jim’s orbs well—guy duds don’t catch his eye.
Dancin’ and prancin’ to Jim-goes-belle air—
that’s some foxy fare!

In the night time, it’s the right time
for frocks of bright lamé.
Jim-goes-belle time, dude-suit-knell time.
So go sliding out of what-bore”! rai[ment].

Stilt-’im up—Jim’s so short: stilleto’d feet;
Jim gets used to the walk.
Trips first, then swings it wigglin’—Jim ain’t effete.
Dancin’, Jim’s so swell frocked.

Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle, Jim goes belle—frocked.
Jim goes belle—guy duds, nix ’em, cry, “Fie!”
Dancin’ and prancin’ to Jim-goes-belle air,
with wrought knockers pair.

In the night time, it’s the right time
for frocks of bright lamé.
Jim-goes-belle time, dude-suit-knell time.
So haute, slide in to a Versace.

Stilt-’im up—Jim’s so short: stilleto’d feet:
Jim goes cock of the walk.
Linguists might quibble: that metaphor ain’t meet
after Jim goes belle.
Hang it! Jim’s no belle.
Hangin’, Jim’s faux belle, cocked.