She don't get the blues, she gives 'em Well she puts her dancing shoes on every night And comes alive there in the smoke beneath the neon lights And she don't like those hurtin' songs Cause she's already lived 'em She checks her broken heart there at the

She's the last of the American girls She puts her makeup on Like graffiti on the walls of the heartland She's got her little book of conspiracies Right in her hand She will come in first For the end of western civilization She's a natural disaster She is

It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair And then she asks me, Do I look all right? And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight We go to a party and everyone turns to see This