Sometimes, I wonder what I'm doing here
In the middle of this tiny square room
Filled with smoke and damp carpet
Soggy with spilled cheap champagne
With the mirrors and flashing lights
And plastic bowls half of salted peanuts
In their discarded shells.
And this room with tired waitresses
Lousy, overpriced drinks

 [bad word] 
Into the black...

I feel sorry for the men sometimes
Mostly I just feel contempt
The men with their furtive movements
and blank faces

I feel sorry for Stacey
Her face looks as though it's been stepped on
Though her body is like angel food
Almost too beautiful to look at
Her boyfriend probably doesn't when he hits her

I feel sorry for Lynne
With her expensive lingerie
Cheap dime store wigs
Trying to hide her identity
She's a Yale graduate with a huge loan debt
She hooks a little on the side

I feel sorry for Babette
With her henna'd Cleopatra hair
And large lumnious eyes
Her adorable accent of broken english
Can't hide her [bad word] habit and predatory nature

Into the black...

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here
Dancing naked except for a few sequins
Lying to men for [bad word] 
I take their room keys and make promises I know I won't fulfill
We're all victims in one way or another
We're all here for different reasons

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here
I like to sleep all day and stay out all night
The idea of a straight job is like the idea of a straightjacket
I like buying clothes
I like taking taxis
I'm pretty and intelligent
Sarcastic and selfish
I'm not going to be doing this forever

Into the black...

And I'm not going to be doing this forever
I'm only 18.