I know Seymour's the greatest, But I'm dating a semi-sadist. So I got a black eye, and my arm's in a cast.
Still that Semour's a cutie. Well, if not, he's got inner beauty. And I dream of a place, Where we can be together, at last.
A matchbox of our own. A fence of real chainlink. 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 bed-time nine-fifteen. We snuggle watching Lucy, On a big, enormous, twelve-inch screen.
Oh, his December bride, He's father, he knows best. The kids play Howdy-Doody, As the Sun sets in the West. A picture out of Better Homes And Gardens magzine. Far from Skid Row, I dream we'll go... Somewhere that's Green.