I know Seymour’s the greatest
But I’m dating a semi-sadist,
So I’ve got a black eye and my arm’s in a cast.
Still, that Seymour’s a cutie.
Well, if not, he’s got inner beauty,
And I dream of a place where we could be together at last.

A matchbox of our own,
A fence of real chain link,
A grill out on the patio,
Disposal in the sink.
A washer and a dryer and an ironing machine
In a tract house that we share,
Somewhere that’s green.
He rakes and trims the grass,
He loves to mow and weed.
I cook like Betty Crocker
And I look like Donna Reed.
There’s plastic on the furniture
To keep it neat and clean,
In the Pine-Sol scented air,
Somewhere that’s green.

Between our frozen dinner and our bedtime, nine-fifteen,
We snuggle watchin’ Lucy on our big, enormous twelve-inch screen.
I’m his December Bride
He’s Father, he Knows Best
Our kids play Howdy Doody
As the sun sets in the west.
A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine,
Far from Skid Row
I dream we’ll go,
Somewhere that’s green.