From my newest scar
comes the end of my mole
My body is perfect
It makes up for my soul
I pray to my Doctor
from my cosmetics pew
And I look adolescent
Though i'm seventy-two

Nice buns mama, Nice buns!
Nice buns mama, Nice buns!

You speak of inner beauty
But I need to be a cutie!
I would believe if I was able
But instead I choose the surgery table

Now I'm pretty as a picture
And I want all to see
and don't lecture me on my psychology
I don't own my own teeth
and my chest is a fake
and i'm checking my options
for a new face to make

You speak of love and money
But I need to be a honey!
I'd see my grandkids if I was able
But I'm busy on the surgery table

DNA should not decide
the size of your boobs or the shape of your hide
He wants to bed
Sexy thighs he said
So I lipo'ed my hind!

And you speak of scars and sutres
But I need handsome suitors
I'd be with you if I was able
but I'm living on the surgery table