On a colorful armchair she sits with her legs
By a glass of Bacardi is perched on the edge
Of a table for two by the side of a fireplace
Hang pictures of people from far away
Waiting all week for the Tupperware party
Waiting all week for the Tupperware man
Leaving the dishes in piles for her husband
Madeline squeaks with delight in her dreams
In the distance a hooter tells John in his motorcar
Drives to the park in the front of her house
Is a pond full of fish and a path to her doorway
He opens the gate and he knocks and comes in
Taking them down for the Tupperware ladies
Ripping them off for the Clip-Top Brigade
Moving to Manilow, lust in a lunchbox
Madeline squeals as he pulls down his jeans
(the television in the background)
From a shirt and a tie that's too big for his body
He moves between table and chair and the sofa is
Covered with chintz and a dozen of ladies
Sipping Martinis whilst clutching at knees
Waiting all week for the Tupperware party
Waiting all week for the Tupperware man
Leaving the dishes in piles for her husband
Madeline squeaks with delight in her dreams
Bulging of biceps for Tupperware ladies
Grinding up groins for the Clip-Top Brigade
Winding down his yellowing Y-fronts
Madeline screams as he pulls at the strings
He ties up his shoes in the chair in the kitchen
The cucumber sandwiches sit near the telephone
Rings it's his boss in a chair in an office
Has got him a job so he drives off again
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