THE PLIGHT OF THE LAST ROMANTIC

Oh my, baby, I've gone crazy
Looking for you, looking for you
What is a crazy boy like me to do?

She was the owner of a Smith-Corona
A bit of a longer I suppose
(you can never really tell)
She dressed in gabardine
Her fingernails were very clean
(She quiverred like a Quaker)
I knew at once I had to make her mine

It was a matter of a mixed emotion
My devotion, her delight
(at avoiding any scene)
She bought two bodyguards
(some tarot cards)
The whole nine yards
(my periscope was broken)
The smoke machine was never to arrive

chorus

Tiptoed up the trellis
With the roses and the wine
Her surprise was not surprising
But the uzi was unkind
As the earth and I collided
I decided that this just might take some time

She was travelling incognito
With Benito and The Blonde
I was hiding in her suitcase
As she smoke and carried on
I thought vict'ry was upon me
When she flicked her ashes on me
And was gone

chorus