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.