Post-War Glamour Girls

Expresso bongo snaps of rome In the latin quarter of the ideal home Fucks all day and sleeps alone Just a tiger rug and a telephone Says a post war glamour girl's never alone. In the seventh heaven on the thirteenth floor Sweethearts' counterparts kiss Limbo dancers under the door Where human dynamos piss Adults only over her pubes Debutantes they give her dubes Beatniks visit with saxophones And the way she eats her Toblerone Says a post war glamour girl is never alone. Mau mau lovers come and go Dreamboats leave her behind A baby-doll to go man go On the slopes of the adult mind A murder mystery walk-on part A dead body or a gangland tart Near the knuckle close to home Criminal connections you can't condone A non-doctor's anonymous drone Says a post war glamour girl's never alone. The section of the populace They call the clientele The moguls of metropolis Defenestrate themselves In the clothes of a rabbit You develop a twitch One of the little sisters of the rich Glamorous cameras clamour and click Her rosary beads are really bones Rebel rebel they bug your phone The post war glamour girl's never alone. Yes there's always a method actor hanging about There goes Mr Tic-Tac out of the back With some bric-a-brac from the knick-knack rack The dumb waiter reminds you of home The action painter's got up and gone Nevertheless it's never been known For a post war glamour girl ever to be What you would call Irrevocably - alone.