When you get our peepers on
X-ray Vegas tits and asses
Phony foamy silicon
Take them in with smoky glasses
When you use our special eyes
That peer though any lie.
You may not love your sad surmise
Like many another spy.
What are glittering smiles or money?
Ask the clowns who run the show.
Though truth can be absurd or funny
Sometimes, kid, there’s nothing to know.
