| On nights like this
|
| When the world’s a bit amiss
|
| And the lights go down
|
| Across the trailer park
|
| I get down
|
| I feel had
|
| I feel on the verge of going mad
|
| And then it’s time to punch the clock
|
| I put on some make-up
|
| And turn up the tape deck
|
| And pull the wig down on my head
|
| Suddenly I’m Miss Midwest
|
| Midnight Checkout Queen
|
| Until I head home
|
| And put myself to bed
|
| I look back on where I’m from
|
| Look at the woman I’ve become
|
| And the strangest things
|
| Seem suddenly routine
|
| I look up from my vermouth on the rocks
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| A gift-wrapped wig still in the box
|
| Of towering velveteen
|
| I put on some make-up
|
| And some LaVern Baker
|
| And pull the wig down from the shelf
|
| Suddenly I’m Miss Beehive 1963
|
| Until I wake up
|
| And turn back to myself
|
| Some girls they have natural ease
|
| They wear it any way they please
|
| With their French flip curls
|
| And perfumed magazines
|
| Wear it up
|
| Let it down
|
| This is the best way that I’ve found
|
| To be the best you’ve ever seen
|
| I put on some make-up
|
| And turn up the eight-track
|
| I’m pulling the wig down from the shelf
|
| Suddenly I’m Miss Farrah Fawcett
|
| From TV
|
| Until I wake up
|
| And turn back to myself
|
| Shag, bi-level, bob
|
| Dorothy Hamill do
|
| Sausage curls, chicken wings
|
| It’s all because of you
|
| With your blow dried, feather back
|
| Toni home wave, too
|
| Flip, fro, frizz, flop
|
| It’s all because of you
|
| It’s all because of you
|
| It’s all because of you
|
| I put on some make-up
|
| Turn up the eight-track
|
| I’m pulling the wig down from the shelf
|
| Suddenly I’m this punk rock star
|
| Of stage and screen
|
| And I ain’t never
|
| I’m never turning back |