The goddess who was sitting up ahead.
The legs up to her ass, the bleached-blonde head.
There are girls you should bring home to mother,
Her, you would bring home for something other.
(In fact, it really might not be so bad
To keep her out of reach from dear old dad.)
If deified, what would her domain be?
The sun, the moon, the fields, the tranquil sea?
She'd tell you to stuff your past'ral notions,
N'also flush your soporific oceans.
I think she'd be the queen of pounding beats,
Of fishnet stockings worn with schoolgirl pleats.
Ah, she'd be the keeper of metal poles,
Stilettos pointing out from women's soles.
She was a STRIPPER, a gorgeous one who
Had figured she should try out something new.
She was going to give mod'ling a shot,
To see for once if she had "it" or not.
I don't know if she did, but she had me,
And if she'd pitched it, I'd have drunk the sea.
[To head to the Intro and Contents for "Heading to Hollywood" click here.]