Pregled posta

She puts her makeup on
Like graffiti on the walls of the heartland
She's got her little book of conspiracies right in her hand
She is a paranoid like endangered species headed into extinction
She is one of a kind
She's the last of the American Girls

She wear her overcoat for the coming of the nuclear winter
She is riding her bike like a fugitive of critical mass
She's on a hunger strike for the ones who won't make it for dinner
She makes enough to survive for a holiday of working class
She's a runaway of the establishment incorporated
She won't cooperate
She's the last of the American Girls