| I know Seymour’s the greatest
|
| But I’m dating a semi-sadist
|
| So I’ve got a black eye
|
| And my arm’s in a cast
|
| Still, that Seymour’s a cutie
|
| Well, if not, he’s got inner beauty
|
| And I dream of a place
|
| Where we could be together at last
|
| And what kind of place is that, honey? |
| An emergency room?
|
| Oh, no. |
| It’s just a day dream of mine
|
| A little development I dream of, just off the interstate
|
| Not fancy, like Levittown
|
| Just a little street, in a little suburb, far far from urban Skid Row
|
| Oh, I dream about it all the time
|
| Just me, and the toaster, and a sweet little guy…
|
| Like Seymour
|
| (sung)
|
| A matchbox of our own
|
| A fence of real chain link
|
| A grill out on the patio
|
| Disposal in the sink
|
| A washer and a dryer and
|
| An ironing machine
|
| In a tract house that we share
|
| Somewhere that’s green
|
| He rakes and trims the grass
|
| He loves to mow and weed
|
| I cook like Betty Crocker
|
| And I look like Donna Reed
|
| There’s plastic on the furniture
|
| To keep it neat and clean
|
| In the Pine-Sol scented air
|
| Somewhere that’s green
|
| Between our frozen dinner
|
| And our bed-time: nine-fifteen
|
| We snuggle watching Lucy
|
| On our big, enormous
|
| Twelve-inch screen
|
| I’m his December Bride
|
| He’s father, he knows best
|
| The kids play Howdy Doody
|
| As the sun sets in the west
|
| A picture out of Better Homes
|
| And Gardens Magazine
|
| Far from Skid Row
|
| I dream we’ll go
|
| Somewhere that’s… green |