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 dynamoes piss - adults only over her pubes - debutantes they give her dubes - beatniks visit with saxaphones - 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 - amorous 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 - and the nice boy from sierra leone - 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.