I was a pushover, ok? And who’d blame me,
the impressionable little innocent
sitting on the floor in front of the TV
waiting out the sit-coms for my
favorite commercial to return?
And then there she’d be, in living black
and white waltzing around in her white
high-heel majorette boots made for walkin’
a pair of gams that’d make Sam Spade stutter
legs that went all the way up to that
three-foot-high
pack-of-Old-Golds
costume
(wolfwhistle!)
And I guess there was no question that
I was gonna give smoking a try, her hurdy-gurdy
leaving me longing to ditch my hayseed
family values and run off with her
Oh I’d be her cute little red-coated bellhop
performing
tricks like the very ultra-cool
popping the ol’ Zippo cover with a finger-snap
Hey-presto— the blue-orange finger of flame
Or blowing smoke rings through smoke rings
through smoke rings
Or performing the ol’ ‘French inhale’ and
like some sexy fire-breathing dragon
releasing the smoke slowly, seductively
from my nostrils’ dual exhaust…
Oh, I was gonna be so cool I’d be
fighting the girls off with a broom!
