Bad lovers face to face in the morning

Shy apologies and polite regrets

Slow dances that left no warning of

Outraged glances and indiscreet yawning

Good manners and bad breath get you nowhere

Even presidents have newspaper lovers

Ministers go crawling under covers

She's no angel

He's no saint

They're all covered up with white washed grease paint

The salty lips of the socialite sisters

With their continental fingers that have

never seen working blisters

Oh I know they've got their problems

I wish I was one of them

They say daddy's coming home soon

With his sergeant stripes and his Empire mug and spoon

No more fast buck

And when are they gonna learn their lesson

When are they gonna stop all of these victory processions