| She fills the rich kitsch niche where she sits
|
| Making chit-chat, this and that, from the bits
|
| Consumed, perfumed, detracts the room despite
|
| Glowing, knowing she can head for the limelight
|
| She’s too rich for her men
|
| She won’t stay, what a shame
|
| A shame
|
| She won’t fit in his world
|
| She exists for the game
|
| A shame
|
| Tricky repertoire
|
| Words flying 'round
|
| Picky seminar
|
| Bound to be drowned in the sound
|
| Sticky shirt and tie
|
| Play 'Bottoms Up' in the bar
|
| Icky, fly guy — why
|
| She’s nastier by far
|
| It’s appeasing how she wanna flaunt her fur
|
| His mind’s but a blur
|
| He’s derailing from his train of thought
|
| Doing not what he ought and was taught
|
| He’s trying to flick quick, but she waged the pages stick
|
| Someone must have gone click, click, click, click
|
| Can’t see what’s new, he doesn’t have a clue
|
| Of what to do with the woman he thought that he knew
|
| She’s too rich for her men
|
| She won’t stay, what a shame
|
| A shame
|
| She won’t fit in his world
|
| She exists for the game
|
| A shame |