Fashion Vs. Its Customers
Let the brushes puke multi-colors on your face

The mirror grins and condones in your disgrace

Wrap that silver noose around your neck

Apply those bling-bling manacles

With the shiny rocks, and the whatchacalls

Bake yourself to a preferred pigment

Step out to your pulsating pervert audience

Their erections give you your round of applause

Maybe its me and my lack of common fashion sense

But your commercial fabrics not made of substance

Drowning yourself in the table of contents
Your personality was made by poor foreigners

Your personality was found dead by coroners

Mummify yourself in their arrogant slogans

Take a bow

Do a one-eighty

Show some ass

The curtain falls

With your self-esteem in tow

Revlons fist giving you two black eyes?

Love being embraced, eaten by your thighs

All sedated by a drinking binge

Maybe it's me and my lack of common fashion sense

But your fabric's not made of any substance
Drown yourself in the table of contents