The Coin Star

The coin star is here,
she poses for the camera.
She drips with oil,
Then she winks for the dogma.

Soon she'll strip of her sheets,
then it's down with her head.
No more is the intellectual,
She's dissapeared on the bed.

There's a stud there too,
But he's a jerk off screen.
And the lady he plays with,
She's long past eighteen.

It's the makeup caked on,
The lip liner perched crusty,
They turn her from a woman,
And into something lusty.

But she's not in it it seems,
Though her cries do suffice.
Still, they're enough for the customers,
Whom have never thought twice.

But who is this "Tawny Lionness,"
This beast on a box?
They'd never recognize her likewise,
Ms. Agnes Pox.

But she knows, she knows,
The woman in bed.
She's got four children at home,
and ideas in her head.

I've heard she's a widow,
With a loved husband dead.
Her mother's from New Orleans,
and her brother's inbred.

She's had her deck of cards delt,
And now its her play.
This desperate poor woman,
She's here to stay.

And this is because she loves her kids,
And her love is true,
For if it wasn't,
She'd never be watched by you.