It’s not uncommon for yesteryears raciest things to be described in the current day as ‘tame’ or ‘now innocent’. But the 1920s had a lurid, highly sexually charged nature that was far ahead of its time, though it was soon to be quashed by much tamer subsequent decades. Nowhere is this on display more delightfully and raunchily than in the 1925 hit tune ‘Flamin’ Mamie’. The song, with music by bandleader Paul Whiteman and lyrics by a man named Fred Rose, reminds me of a mad word jam poem a la Joseph Moncure March’s ‘The Wild Party’. The rhymes are both intricate and hilarious, the fire imagery and double entendre brilliantly accomplished. Below I’ve printed the entire lyric, complete with versus and second chorus. Above is the Coon Sanders Nighthawks recording of the song. They only do a portion of the lyrics and I’m not finding any complete recordings of it–at least not yet. You have to hang in for a minute and forty seconds before the vocal starts so if this isn’t necessarily your kind of music just skip ahead. Or just enjoy a solid three minutes of what the ‘music of the street’ sounded like in a very different time in a very different America.

Vampires come,
Vampires go,
But a certain vamp I know
Goes on forever,
I wanna tell the world she’s clever. 

And everything this baby’s got,
Has to be flamin’ hot
‘Cause if you pass her on the street,
Here’s what you’ll repeat:

She’s Flamin’ Mamie, the sure fire vamp,
The hottest baby in town,
She’s a heart scorcher,
Loves torture,
Until it burns ’em down.

Of all those damper turnin’ mamas,
Not one compares,
‘Cause it stands endurance,
Carries fire insurance 
On everything she wears.

When it comes to lovin’,
She’s a human oven,
But she’s hard to understand.

You know it may sound funny
But paper money 
Burns right in her hands.

A firemen that’s so old,
He had to retire
Said she’s the hottest thing he’s seen
Since the Chicago fire.

Flamin’ Mamie,
Sure fire vamp,
The hottest baby in town. [Repeat verse]

She’s a door checkin’, home wreckin’,
Gal that burns ’em down.

Come on you futuristic papas,
It’s time you’re told.
She’s got ’em all cheated,
She’s a pre-heated
Gal that’s anything but cold.

Her nerves are pensive
But her mind’s expensive
And she knows her P’s and Q’s.
She’s a red hot stepper, 
Sprinkles cayenne pepper
In her dancin’ shoes.

Now her father’s name was Burns,
He worked in a mine,
‘Said she ate a box of matches 
At the age of nine.

Flamin’ Mamie,
Sure fire vamp,
Hottest baby in town.