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She left her school for the factory |
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From pocket money to a salary |
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From a pac-a-mac to a compact case |
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And every morning she inspects her face |
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She discovers pulling pints in pubs |
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That the good looks will never cover up for |
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Her dumbness in takin' the stock |
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Sees her reflection in a butcher's shop |
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She finds it all quite rare |
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That her meat's all vanity fair |
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She finds it all quite rare |
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That her meat's all vanity fair |
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She has her eyes on medallion men |
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That get her home on the dot at ten |
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She combs her hair when she gets excused |
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The deal she wants always ends up screwed |
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Paints her nails on the bathroom scales |
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Gargles her breath like a landed whale |
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Her beauty is as deep as her skin |
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Keeps her eyebrows in a tobacco tin |
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She poses foot on the chair |
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Coconut shy but vanity fair |
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She poses foot on the chair |
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Coconut shy but vanity fair |
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In her vanity case, her compact case |
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In her compact case, her eyes, not bad for a sister |
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But her vanity's fair and her sense of humor's dry |
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She comes home late with another screw loose |
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She swears to have had just a pineapple juice |
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Falls asleep fully clothed in her bed |
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With her makeup remover by her head |
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And she might not be all there |
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But her dream's all vanity fair |
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She might not be all there |
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But her dream's all vanity fair |
