You dropped your dress, you dirty stop-out
All sexual hell about to break loose
Seems to me you choose to wire your body to these down-trodden men, send them all kinds of crazy lovelorn insane
And for what, a dire and crumpled up old dollar bill begging to be multiplied – the same one that pays the petrol to pick up your unknowing son come the sudden turn of your harrowing tide
When promiscuity is entirely disguised by neat flower dresses and mid-morning coffee with the picket-fence girls
These dirty George Washington’s will stop at nothing to strut their stuff aside yours – dunno which of you is more used up in the second, third, forth place
I just wish you could pull yourself away, clean your pretty face, and keep your lingerie on for one whole day
Grow an untouchable tendency to delve someplace else
I swear to Christ, the stench of condoms up in here is killing us