Her frilly dress with coffee stains

Her scuffed up shoes and feet of pains

The waitress works the morning shifts

Trays of cups and plates she lifts

Smoke and coffee fill the air

and mix with sugar in her hair

The greasy bacon she does pile

while on her face she makes a smile

In cream she lets her fingers dip

Her mind is set upon her tip

The customer waits at his stool

On sight of her starts to drool

She winks and sings, "What would you like?"

"Of you, I'd surely take a bite,"

he says with his intentions true

She gulps and taunts him "Wouldn't you?"

The menu takes she from the stand

While up her thigh does run his hand

Then looking at that man so fat

To him she warns, "Now, none of that!"

She laughs "This coffee is the best"

but both his eyes are on her chest

She takes his cup to fill, she pours

for only few come through those doors

And with the tray upon her hip

Her mind is set upon her tip

She caters to his every need

from fear he'll say, "It's time to leave"

With buttered raisin toast she'd flirt

and higher does she raise her skirt

Until that moment when she turns

And of his absence she soon learns

So quickly does she run and trip

"I hope he left a hefty tip!"

But on that tray of many dents

there lay the sum of seven cents.