I know Seymour's the greatest,

But I'm dating a semi-sadist.

So I got a black eye,

and my arm's in a cast.



Still that Semour's a cutie.

Well, if not, he's got inner beauty.

And I dream of a place,

Where we can be together, at last.



A matchbox of our own.

A fence of real chainlink.

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 bed-time nine-fifteen.

We snuggle watching Lucy,

On a big, enormous, twelve-inch screen.



Oh, his December bride,

He's father, he knows best.

The kids play Howdy-Doody,

As the Sun sets in the West.

A picture out of Better Homes

And Gardens magzine.

Far from Skid Row,

I dream we'll go...

Somewhere that's Green