An anorexic young upstart struts down the runway,
she is so thin but more gaunt then lean.
She cut down on her baby fat the fun way, checked herself into a magazine

Like every preacher needs a sinner and the gangster likes the sub-machine,
experts get paid by the beginners
and the bombshell needs her magazine.

Ventura police told me that I was weaving on my way down the hall to suite two-ten.
See, I get blown away so easily, all it takes me is a few puffs of wind.

When I go out to see my baby, I pick her up at ten-fifteen
And as I wait for all her clothes to get put on I sit down and check out a magazine.
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Magazine Lyrics

Mother Hips – Magazine Lyrics