Look at her in her fine new dressings,
Superficial amusement the mind wants changing.
Watch her walk, you know where she lives.
Where the grass is only one and a half inches,
Perfect perennials in her Sub-Urban garden.
But now she prances down ‘that’ road.
In the part of town with those of a very different station.
It’s exciting, new, dangerous, and rebellious.
Hoping she could see the look of her parents faces.
The inhabitants call out to her,
She’s in a trance of romantic ideals.
She’s a little rich girl,
And she’s lookin’ to score.
Try a few new things,
Experience her parents’ view of the obscene.
Taste what it is the poor have to offer.
Watch her now, knees on the floor,
Her parents would call her a dirty little whore.
And their right, in one aspect at least;
She’s a whore for the lifestyle,
Like she’s got a disease,
Do anything to find the cure.
Look at the poor little rich girl,
Watch her walk down those shadowy streets,
She’s lookin’ to score.

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