Copyright 1996

by Herbert W. Robinson and Margo M. Granfors


First, Barb slips on her spandex suit
and adds perfume for extra punch.
She puts on lashes and fills them out,
'til those eyelids must weigh tons.
She curls up some wayward tresses,
Does all the things she knows she must
To catch the perfect boyfriend,
who will be her one true love.
She's off to find a new pick
Where she knows the tunes they spin.
The dance club with the tinge ...
Of Plastic Palms & Plastic Music!
Now, Ken jumps in his tightest jeans
and does the buttons on his vest,
He scans the mirror, adjusts the arc,
of gold chains across his chest.
He shines up his rented Beemer
and brushes off a fleck of mud:
No effort spared to look good
and to show us he's a stud.
He's off to wow a few chicks,
Mr. M.C. off to score
and raid that body store ...
With Plastic Palms & Plastic Music!
She sees the man she's looking for
and just ignores the stale lines.
She knows he's ready to settle down:
He just needs a little time.
He studies the evening's conquest,
but doesn't hear a word she says.
Just knows she won't be angry, when he doesn't call again.
They both feel sure their view fits
Both are driven to the rite
and moan with feigned delight ...
Just Plastic Palms & Plastic Music!