I have been pro-vanity since i was 10
I put your altars in an eye shadow den
In the bag I didn't drop, there were no cherry lollipops
But cherry lips, smack her, I sawed her off
Marry many picked a pepper on and
Cameras are rolling back and forth on the rocks

And I'm sick of your smile
And I'm sick of your face
And I'm sick of your meaningless blather
And I'm sick of your hair, and I wish it weren't there
It's a awfully delicate matter

There is no place I would rather be killed
Than in my own backyard on my own propane grill
In the lie I didn't stop a little candy-coated boy was caught
And I felt bad as I ripped him off

Many prizes can reward a child for good behavior
But you should be wary of those that involve love

And I'm sick when I breathe
And I wish you would leave
At the very least, quit the contractions
It's not wrong, I mean, Christ, but I don't think it's right
To just slice for a piece of the action

Oh, what a wonderful party
Oh, what [bad word] home
Oh, what a wonderful body
So what's in the bottle, what's in the bottle?

(It is [bad word] 

I have been pro-vanity since I could know
No one will ever care to see what I don't show
In the room I kept her locked she grew up talking just like me
I thought she would be different and withstand the shock
Imitating what she knew she consequently grew
Into a pair of M40s and seventh-hand shoes

And I'm sick of myself
And I wish you could help
Have a shot with me, pull up a ladder
Oh, it sounds like that spirit we haven't been hearing
Since 1916 when the dada came dearing

And maybe you'd be happy
To be pro-vanity