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"I do! I swear I like your hair. It goes good with your snake.
And that tattoo is really you. So how long did it take?
No, I didn't know you were a dancer.
I think dance is underrated."

He says she could be a model, says he knows she could.

"The money is good."
She says she's heard that before.
She tried it out, but she's just too small.
"Five feet three inches tall."

It's the thrill of the chase, they're playing hawk and dove.
He thinks he's falling in love.
She thinks Polanski's a fool. He thinks Fellini's a ghoul. I think zucchini is cool.

She came from Ohio and believed for a time she was on fire; was brighter, was hot.

Spinning his wheels, he's losing ground,
Frustration grows; he feels like picking his nose.
He says "Do you know who I met at the Hard Rock
Saturday?
And did you know he was gay?"
She's duly impressed; she French inhales as a slick reply.
"He's a really great guy."

She had a problem with snow.
He had his bout with blow.
The stylish way to go.

What do you know? This is the best one yet.
Far and away since the day he left Connecticut.
His secret agent suit finally paid off.

It's real good, it's Hollywood, it's clear.
And the sun is high. I can see the sign from here.
Take the 101 to the 405 to the beach.
Where they put their strings and things just out of reach.

Maybe you could come with me
We'll see the sea, just you and me


Lyrics submitted by punkpirate

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