Gene Harlow was one of the outstanding s** goddesses
Of talking pictures, voluptuous and very relaxed
Probably, in the early thirties, the rawest, s**iest person on the American screen
She marries this man Paul Bern, and
Now we're in the bathroom
I would like to hold you
It's hard to hold a bombshell
When it's soaking wet
Eyebrows plucked to nothing
Skin as pale as porcelain
I can't believe you're here
I can't believe you haven't started yet
I would like to hold you, I would like to touch
But you're such a slippery proposition
Wouldn't you be rather
Working up a lather?
Water's turning tepid
And I should pull the plug
My stock is at a maximum
My blonde it is a platinum
I'm out of body lotion
Mister, you are out of luck
Scalded on the left side, freezing on the right
Nothing seems to work tonight
Two minutes into the second reel
Life was at it's best I feel
I froze the frame, approach the screen
Now you're too close
And I can't focus
No I, no I can't see you clear
The guys will say I've got it made
Coming home tonight at the end of every day
But I can feel you slipping away
Now the water's cold
Lying here alone
I guess I dropped the bombshell
She got bored and left
I never got to hold you, never got to touch
She slipped through my fingers
Thank you very much