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This is a story about Freddie and Flo,
They lived in Baltimore a long time ago.
It might be called a May-September romance
And shows how love can blossom if it's given a chance.
Flo taught Sunday School, her reputation was pure;
When asked his occupation, Fred said "entrepreneur".
Where he came from was a topic for debate,
Maybe Cleveland or Seattle, but nobody was sure.

Now, Florence was quite prim and proper, you know.
Her daddy was a Baptist preacher, and though
She'd had schoolgirl crushes by the score,
Like on Valentino and that John Barrymore,
But something 'bout this Fred made her knees grow weak,
When he was near, she couldn't find words to speak.
Those Sunday mornings all to her were a blur
'cause all through the sermon she kept sneaking a peek.

Young Freddie Jones was quite the man about town,
And lots of ladies let him squire them around.
Tall ones, short ones, large ones, and lean,
He kept quite a scorecard, if you know what I mean.
But that preacher's daughter wouldn't give him the time,
She seemed to think that she was much too refined.
Until one day as he was leaving the church,
She dropped a hint if he should call, she wouldn't mind.

Flo's invitation took young Fred by surprise,
What her intentions were he couldn't surmise.
She'd always seemed to him a standoffish lass,
As if she thought she was a queen, or maybe made of pure glass.
But clearly she was not some snobbish recluse,
And to decline her invite, he had no good excuse.
Still he was on the verge of saying, "Thank you, but no."
When the preacher made an offer Fred just couldn't refuse.

Flo's dad was getting near the end of his rope,
That she would wed he'd all but given up hope.
Her views on virtue were as cute as could be,
When she was ten or twelve, but now she's past thirty-three.
So when she seemed to show some interest in Fred,
He saw his chance, and he thought "Full steam ahead!"
As he shook Fred's hand, he whispered into his ear,
"My boy, I'll pay you fifty dollars if my daughter you'll wed."

Now fifty's not a lot of money today.
In 1910, though, it went quite a long way.
A spinster for a wife on Fred's agenda was not,
But he warmed up to the notion when dad sweetened the pot.
Fred hardly could believe what he was hearing was real,
But what her dad suggested had a certain appeal.
So Fred applied his special marketing ploy,
"Make it an even hundred, sir, and you've got a deal."

So Freddie Jones stopped his tomcatting around,
And with his new bride soon was settling down.
On their wedding night he met a whole different Flo
When she showed him things in bed Fred never knew he didn't know.
They both were happy as two peas in a pod,
Fred stopped entrepreneuring and applied for a job.
He lost the hundred on a horse at the track,
And so he started running numbers for the Baltimore mob.

A year went by and then their little family was three,
But one day Fred got busted, and Flo found out that he
Was not Freddie Jones, and that his real name was Yates,
And he was warranted for bigamy in seventeen states.
Freddie went to prison; Flo moved back in with dad
Who had to give up preaching when the gossip got bad.
When Florence learned the truth, she called her father a beast,
He should have had the sense to offer Fred five hundred, at least!

So that's my story about Freddie and Flo,
It could have had a happy ending, but no.
Destiny's to blame their baby, too, turned out bad
Because, of course, the lad grew up to be a cad like his dad.
But his career of vice and dissipation was brief,
At his incarceration fathers sighed with relief.
One could conclude bad attitude made Junior a jerk,
Or just a good example of bad genetics at work.
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