Poems of the stars. No, not the pretty, natural, twinkling ones in the night sky. The ugly, fake, empty ones on your TV screen.
Let me sing you a song in the key of me,
I won’t even charge you my usual fee!
I make the front page in a bikini,
My poster on your wall is my only degree;
I don’t make cents I make money -
You don’t have to make sense when you’re this pretty.
Everyone wants what I wear,
As if they have the hips to draw these stares.
I do charity work but I don’t really care -
It’s just one more excuse to do my hair.
Have you heard of my latest affair?
His frumpy wife thinks life’s so unfair!
I’m not worried about getting old,
Youth is in needles and knives - so I’m told.
I’ll never be left wanting, or out in the cold;
My house is made of platinum, my car of gold.
Gather around your TV screens to behold
Every single second of my life unfold.
Reporters hear I’m in town and they get wet;
People would rather read about me than their debt,
That’s why I’ve got two thousand fan pages on the net.
So come for a ride in my private jet;
My fifteen minutes ain’t up yet -
Hell, I haven’t even broken a sweat!