I know Seymour's the greatest
But I'm dating a semi-sadist
So I've got a black eye
And my arm's in a cast.
Still, that Seymour's a cutie
Well, if not, he's got inner beauty
And I dream of a place
Where we could be together at last
And what kinda place is that, Honey? An emergency room?
Oh no! It's just a daydream of mine!
A little development I dream of
Just off the Interstate
Not fancy, like Levettown.
Just a little street, in a little suburb
Far, far from urban Skid Row.
The sweetest, greenest place
Where everybody has the same little lawn out front
and the same little flagstone patio out back
All the houses are so neat, and pretty!
'Cause they all look just alike!
Oh, I dream about it all the time.
Just me, and a toaster, and a sweet, little guy.
Like, Seymour.
A matchbox of our own, a fence of real chain link,
A grill out on the patio, disposal in the sink,
A washer and a dryer and an ironing machine.
In a tract house that we share somewhere that's green.
He rakes and trims the grass, he loves to mow and weed
I cook like Betty Crocker, and I look like Donna Reed
There's plastic on the furniture, to keep it neat and clean
In the Pine-Sol scented air.
Somewhere that's green.
Between our frozen dinner
And our bedtime, nine-fifteen
We snuggle watching Lucy
On our big, enormous twelve-inch screen
I'm his December Bride
He's Father, he Knows Best
Our kids watch Howdy Doody
As the sun sets in the west
A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Far from Skid Row
I dream we'll go
somewhere that's green.
