Le Salon De Coiffure

Mon Dieu she shrieked, I watched him standing there, Beneath the Gogh, the suit was Weatherill. He sipped cognac (Eden de Gautier) And on his arm some filly from Brazil. You heard, of course, poor dear, she knew the drill. What must she think: her dress, she wore Chanel, The shoes, Vuitton, I thought were overkill But then she smiled; I swear he almost fell. Madame, the coiffeur calls please take the chair. She feigns a smile, the fragrance tastes Patou. He's suave, he knows, he gently combs the air And asks, Madame, what can I do for you. She flicks her hair as if she's in distress. He knows she knows that men have died for less. - [ ]