It's senior privilege, we get to sit on the rickety bridge
by the football field and smoke Viceroys after lunch.
It's fun bein' queenie and all; Dad always said
I had the prettiest peepers from here to Harrison.
And I just hit the bottle: my nest is all blonde! Like a pastel mermaid!
I sat under Bettina dryer for an hour and a half last night--
I swear my brains heated up and made me real silly
while I varnished my nails and read an entire Vogue.
It's 1 o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday and I've got two shiny pennies
pressed snug into each loafer tongue, bobby socks pulled up under my knees.
This weekend's gonna be kickin', even if Rye really is nowheresville.
Tonight Sparky and I will wedge ourselves into the trunk of Don's Woody
so we don't have to pay to get into the passion put like we did last weekend.
And while we're scrunched back there, crouching on top of picnic blankets
and that clanky toolbox,
Sparky'll whisper, "you're my earthbound dolly...
those runnning lights are like rocks!"
I'll clue you in: I think he's pretty kookie for me!
He's got a mint green T-bird- I don't know how he scored it--
but it screams, and all the girls are jealous.
He buys my strawberry slurgs whenever I feel like, and he gave me his oil-slick jacket.
I swear smog billows up in my noggin whenever I hear him pull into the drive.
Three months until I graduate; I'm really playin' dead.
And in my father's oversized sweater, buttoned down the back,
I'm not showing yet.