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She's got those fuck-me eyes and a tummy flatter than a cutting
board but there's one problem...
She's got those breasts that make you feel like you touched a live
electrical wire and an ass that'll send you to the moon but there's one
problem...
Sometimes they come with unusual names
Like Trixie or Trudy or Mamie
Seem so different but they're all just the same
Because they're brain-dead
Well, you can hook a battery tester up to their head
For a third-grader the needle's supposed to go into the red
So why's it just stay there instead? because they're brain-dead
She floats through space like a feather on a parabolic wind current
but there's one problem
Drops of perspiration hover on her nymphomaniacal skin and there's
a light twinge on her lips that says Imunna h-hurt you but there's one
problem
Well you could swear they were daughters of Zeus
The top strings of their blouses are loosened
Want to drink them through a straw just like juice But they're brain
dead
Behind the eye-beauty's a thick thick fog
You get more conversation froth a ran-over dog
But boy she looks good when she goes for a jog
Oh please
Won't you
Take this burden from me
And ship
These chicks
Back to Saint Loo-hoo-hee
Brain dead
And the cortex is screaming for food
Brain ded
A detective without a clue
Brain dead
Oh what's a mother to do?
