They stamp, they whistle, they swerve
For they're at the top of the stair
Caught in the worshipful gaze
Queen of all that she surveys
I must have a match for my grand entree
She sings in a baritone key
She's sturdy but somehow feline
She walks the intergender line
And she'll win your heart,
I must have a match for my
It goes with the boots and
Man, if there's no match,
A little too blue around the chin,
too many teeth in the grin
A suggestion of bulge at the seam,
but still within the spotlight's beam
When she pulls it off, she sells the dream.
I must have a match for my granddad's toy.
Her heels scar the floor as her feet
Feathers fly off in the twilight
She is a rather clumsy girl
But imperfection grew the part
I must have a match for my grand entree
Man, if there's no match,