She fixed her eyes on the prize All dolled up and terse With an out of court compromise And a coyness well-rehearsed
She rolls the dice and throws the cards In her garish Sunday best With meaty tarts and roasted hearts She feeds a greedy guest
Holding fast to a golden pass To hobnob with the trendy She makes a splash flouting class And turning green with envy
There's no end to her hunger No quenching her thirst She's got an aptitude for splendor Turning stomachs, dishing dirt An extravagantly ravenous appetite for hurt
