expresso bongo snaps of rome - in the latin quarter of
the ideal home - f*cks all day and sleeps alone - just
a tiger rug and a telephone - says a post war glamour
girl's never alone.
in the seventh heaven on the thirteenth floor -
sweethearts' counterparts kiss - limbo dancers under
the door - where human dynamoes piss - adults only over
her pubes - debutantes they give her dubes - beatniks
visit with saxaphones - and the way she eats her
toblerone - says a post war glamour girl is never
alone.
mau mau lovers come and go - dreamboats leave her
behind - a baby-doll to go man go - on the slopes of
the adult mind - a murder mystery walk-on part - a dead
body or a gangland tart - near the knuckle close to
home - criminal connections you can't condone - a non-
doctor's anonymous drone - says a post war glamour
girl's never alone.
the section of the populace - they call the clientele -
the moguls of metropolis - defenestrate themselves - in
the clothes of a rabbit - you develop a twitch - one of
the little sisters of the rich - amorous cameras
clamour and click - her rosary beads are really bones -
rebel rebel they bug your phone - the post war glamour
girl's never alone.
yes there's always a method actor hanging about - there
goes mr tic-tac out of the back - with some bric-a-brac
from the knick-knack rack - the dumb waiter reminds you
of home - and the nice boy from sierra leone - the
action painter's got up and gone - nevertheless it's
never been known - for a post war glamour girl ever to
be - what you would call - irrevocably - alone.