Magazine Lyrics

An anorexic young upstart struts down the runway,
she is so thin but more gaunt then lean.
She cut down on her baby fat the fun way, checked herself into a magazine

Like every preacher needs a sinner and the gangster likes the sub-machine,
experts get paid by the beginners
and the bombshell needs her magazine.

Ventura police told me that I was weaving on my way down the hall to suite two-ten.
See, I get blown away so easily, all it takes me is a few puffs of wind.

When I go out to see my baby, I pick her up at ten-fifteen
And as I wait for all her clothes to get put on I sit down and check out a magazine.