You’re prime for the reptile, Mister.
You’ll turn around and see her pretty soon.
She’s as fresh as the first weeds of April
And as beautiful and icy as the moon.
You’re prime for the reptile, Mister.
She’ll pick you like a pocket and then
Send you back to your wife in little pieces
That will never fit together right again.
You’ll tell her why
You can’t keep up the broken trust, the self-disgust,
The poison lie.
You’ll say goodbye.
She’ll find your eyes with hers
And say she understands.
But she’ll be talking while her hand is on your thigh.
Maybe the first thing you’ll notice
Is the flash of those perfect teeth.
You’ll feel as strong and as cool as a Maserati
And as dirty as the wheel well underneath.