She's puckering her rosy fat lips Then she brutally plucks her eyebrows And paints her cheeks and her eyes She examines her valleys and her hills She listens to the juke box in her head Playing a bunch of shallow love songs Then she prowls like a wild cat Don't look at me, don't look at me Like this, like this, like this Microwaves, microwaves of love Coming from somewhere up above Letting her organs slightly tremble Little Vesuvius when will you erupt? Standing up and doing slow pirouettes