(Difford/Tilbrook)



She left her school for the factory  

From pocket money to a salary,  

From a pac-a-mac to a compact case  

And every morning she inspects her face.  

She discovers pulling pints in pubs  

That the good looks will never cover up for  

Her dumbness in taking the stock  

Sees her reflection in a butcher's shop.  

She finds it all quite rare  

That her meat's all vanity fair.   



She has her eyes on medallion men  

Who get her home on the dot at ten,  

She combs her hair when she gets excused  

The deal she wants always ends up screwed.  

Paints her nails on the bathroom scales  

Gargles her breath like a landed whale,  

Her beauty is as deep as her skin  

Keeps her eyebrows in a tobacco tin.  

She poses foot on the chair  

Coconut shy but vanity fair.   



In her vanity case her compact case  

In her compact case her eyes,  

Not bad for a sister  

But her vanity's fair and her sense of humour's dry.  

She comes home late with another screw loose  

She swears to have had just a pineapple juice,  

Falls asleep fully clothed in her bed  

With her makeup remover by her head.  

And she might not be all there  

But her dream's all vanity fair.