Perfect People
I wish I lived in a commercial,
perfect people who all dance and sing,
perfect clothes that they wear
perfect smiles, perfect hair
perfect children, who'll eat anything.
The products they use are all perfect,
they do a good job every time,
no-one having to soak,
just a chisel-jawed bloke
with a squirty gun, cleaning the grime.
The holidays always seem sunny,
the cars have a glistening shine,
the sofas sat on are nigh twenty feet long
and not frayed, with some cat hairs, like mine.
Healthy oldies discussing their pensions
and taking out funeral plans,
I don't care about death, just maintaining my breath
and making it upstairs while I can.
If I bought everything that they offer,
maybe I'd then be a perfect bloke
but I've checked the amount
that's in my bank account
and I'd end up both perfect and broke.
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