Pouting down from posters
The vamps and sweet coquettes
Who staff the vacant dream-lot
That no young man forgets
Like early cigarettes
A proto-girl-group groupie
No shame and no regrets
I drifted out of childhood
As lonely as it gets
In love with The Ronettes
Their names go by like stations
The Bangles and Belle Stars
They take their relay baton
And harmonies from Mars
Straight from the Shangri-Las
So perfect in the pop mags
But slightly out of reach
The business knows the market
And flings them in the breach
Here boys: one Spice Girl each.
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