All the birds are singin' in the mornin' trees,
But the birds are not singin' for me.
My man did meet with a flirt on the street,
Gave him a case of VD.
I begged him to look up a doctor and go,
It broke out all over his skin.
But he rubbed hisself with some dark drugstore salve
And he said, "It's not the VD."
"I been in the Army, in the Merchant Marines,
My dear wife, long enough to know
That little red... little hot rashes that burn on my skin
Are not the VD, I'm sure."
Autor(es): Woody Guthrie