She’s got that pretty plastic house
To match her pretty plastic chest
And a man who spends my years wages
On a pretty tight black dress
So he can rip it off her
And tie her to his desk
And with blunt tools he moulds her
To make her look her best
And she’s happy sitting pretty
In her pretty broken dress
Blissful in her misery
Pretty little mess
And everything’s pretty perfect
Until you ask her why
She’s pouring pills in vodka
Asking God to die
Silly pretty girl
You’ve made a silly little mess
You spilt some of your cocktail
On your pretty little dress
And now your pretty husband
He’s thirsty don’t you think
So how about you share
Some of your pretty little drink
Love the juxtaposition of the jaunty rhyme scheme with the subject matter.
Someone could set this to music.