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The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger
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Britney Jean
this is the sad tale,
of the girl in blonde pigtails
from small town, mississippi,
on the curb, are out for sale
she entered the room,
all old pillows and perfume.
her wide eyes are promised
of beautiful or doom
the ambrosia,
of youth come, daffodills.
a cheshire cat smiles,
at them full, for a while.
britney jean, an american dream.
spear through the heart of the popstar machine
potato chips and trembling lips,
beneath it, she's sad that she'd never been kissed.
(aah)
soon white socks
and school girl grades
were traded for the shats and slims
only her mascara ran
when she should have escaped
she stared in the mirror
of what she had become
do they say you'll go
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blind if you look at the sun
life of plastic
rapunzel, she let down her hair
a poor
downbeat park
till they heard, 'lulla dare'
britney jean, an american dream
spear through the heart of the popstar machine
potato chips and trembling lips
beneath it, she's said that
she'd never been kissed
at the old crossroads
with the ghost of bob john's son
she sold her soul
but forgot the fine print
if you find yourself
lost in the hollywood hills
follow the trail of glitter and pills
in a forest of photographs
past the marquee
a little voice chimes
'hit me one more time...'
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