Swingin' Utters Playboys Punks And Pretty Things
"A penny for your thoughts," he says as he swiftly slips
from bed to bed and the thoughtful ones are charmed by
him and the sexy ones turned on by him and he's knighted
by casanova's kin and his ladies would never turn on him
'cause he's the cary grant of the party kings and the
playboy of your wildest dreams wouldn't you like to be a
sweetheart? Haven't you dreamed of being an upstart?
Owning the heart of every beauty queen the envy of every
ladies man-machine making regular stops at meat market
spots lifting skirts and molesting tarts buying bottles
and blow and whiskey shots for any femme fatale who's got
an urge to f..ck. Sometimes he's not alone he's got a
family and home does he rent or does he own? Is he the
villian in your tome? Has he forgotten his way? Has he a
mind to leave the fray? Are you so naive and vague? Does
it matter anyway? ly afternoon it's dead they've all gone
down and off to bed and in his hands a fifth of gin, a
fine young thing, some methedrine disgusted, drunk and
all washed up and still nursing a stinking cup he shades
his eyes from a cloudless sky and punkes it up, it's
party time again. Combat boots are all laced up prada
shoes with argyle socks seductive stares and massed up
hair ripped and torn and now laid bare i'll take you to
my little room i'll play you "fly me to the moon" relax,
i'm clean and blind and free you won't gain anything from
me. Come take comfort from the storm befriend the ones
you scorned i'll be your savior and your saint i'll be
what all the others ain't it's not as bad as it all seems
what if this were all a dream? Do you have to be so
plain? Does it matter anyway?
