An exercise in very poor taste
Class is a nasty thing to waste
Your eyes of coal, your lips of paste
Low Glamour
Leave me alone

The kind of people you meet on the bus
The open sores and the oozing pus
And now a girl with a new disease
Low Glamour
I'm easy to please.

I'm fashion-minded, on the go
I dress as pure as the driven snow
If you want to do me, take my advice
Low Glamour
Spray me for lice. 

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