Deborah was a Catholic girl,
she held out to the bitter end.
Carla was a different type,
she's the one who put it in.
Mary was a black girl,
and I was afraid of a girl like that.
Susan painted pictures sitting down
like the Buddhists sat.
Reno was an aimless girl,
a geographic memory.
Cathy was a Jesus-freak,
she liked that kind of misery.
Vicky had this special way
of turning sex into a song.
Camella couldn't sing,
kept the beat and kept it strong.
Xylla was an archetype,
the voodoo queen the queen of rap.
Joan thought men were second best
to masturbating in the bath.
Sherri was a feminist,
she really had that gift of gab.
Kathleen's point of view was this:
take whatever you can grab.
Seattle was another girl
who left her mark upon the map.
Karen liked to tie me up,
and left me hanging by a strap.
Jeannie had this nightclub walk
that made grown men feel underage.
Mary Ellen who had a son
said "I must go," but finally stayed.
Gloria the last taboo
was shattered by her tongue one night.
Mimi brought the taboo back
and held it up before the light.
Marilyn who knew no shame,
was never ever satisfied.
Julie came and went so fast,
she didn't even say good-bye.
Well Rhonda had a house in Venice,
lived on brown rice and cocaine.
Patty had a house in Houston,
shot cough syrup in her veins.
Linda thought her life was empty,
filled it up with alcohol.
Katherine was much too pretty,
she didn't do that shit at all.
Uh-uh. Not Katherine.
Pauline thought that love was simple,
turn it on and turn it off.
Jean-Marie was complicated,
like some French film-maker's plot.
Gina was the perfect lady,
always kept her stockings straight.
Jackie was a rich punk-rocker,
silver spoon and a paper plate.
Sarah was a modern dancer,
lean pristine transpare
