East is east and west is west, and the wrong one I have chose. Let's go where I'll keep on wearing those frills and flowers and buttons and bows, rings and things and buttons and bows. Don't bury me in this prairie, take me where the cement grows. Let's move down to some big town where they love a gal by the cut of her clothes, and I'll stand out in buttons and bows. I'll love you in buckskin and skirts that I've home-spun, but I'll love you longer, stronger, where your friends don't tote a gun. My bones denounce the buckboard bounce and the cactus hurts my toes. Let's bamboos where gals keep using those silks and satins and linens that shows, and I'm all yours in buttons and bows. My bones denounce the buckboard bounce and the cactus hurts my toes. Let's bamboos where gals keep using those silks and satins and linens that shows, and I'm all yours in buttons and bows. Give me eastern trimming where women are women and high silk hose and peek-a-boo clothes and French perfume that rocks the room, and I'm all yours in buttons and bows. Buttons and bows. Buttons and bows. Rings and things and buttons and bows.