It was the nicest little whorehouse you ever saw.
It lay about a mile outside the city limits.
Sheriff Jack Roy Wallace picked it out for Miss Woologyne in 1910,
and she moved there
with her girls from over the hardware store on Main Street.
Oh,
the little house lay in the green Texas glade,
where the trees were as cool and as
fresh lemonade.
Soft summer wind had a trace of perfume,
and a fan was turning in every
room.
Twenty fans were turning,
they were turning,
twenty fans were turning in every
room.
Peepers were a-burning,
they were burning,
and they had to have a way to cool down.
Right from the beginning,
the little house was kind of special,
like a home away from home.
Miss Woologyne put a piano in the
parlor to sort of help break the ice.
A feller could ask a girl to dance,
or if he held back a little,
she'd ask him,
and pretty soon they'd get a little business going.
Two dollars worth.
It wasn't long before the place became one of the
better-known pleasure palaces in all of Texas,
so much so that the fellers who visited during
World War I sent their sons back in World War II.
The hospitality and friendliness never changed,
and neither did Miss Woologyne's strict set of rules.
She liked her ladies,
as she called them,
to treat her customers real good,
but never in an unladylike way.
And she insisted that each girl check her gentleman for the clap,
and wash him off with soap and warm water.
Some of the fellers claimed that that was the best part.
Woo-wee!
It was only during the Hoover Depression that
the little house had a spell of tough times.
Miss Woologyne put in a jukebox to spark up business,
but it wasn't always easy in them days to come up with hard cash.
Somehow, as the story goes,
the girls began accepting poultry in trade.
One bird, one
play.
And that's how the place got its name,
the Chicken Ranch.
20 pence for turning, they were turning.
20 pence for turning in every room.
Diggers were a-burning, they were burning.
And they had to have a way to cool down.
20 pence for humming,
they were humming.
20 pence for humming in every room.
Customers were coming, they were coming.
And they had to have a way to cool down.
Bop-bop, ooo,
bop-bop,
ooo,
bop-bop,
ooo,
bop-bop.
20 pence for turning, they were turning.
20 pence for turning in every room.
Diggers were a-burning, they were burning.
And they had to have a way to cool down.