The Single Jingle

Preserve me from those singles bars.

I'd much prefer the clink.

The guys all act like movie stars,

But can't afford a drink.

The clothes they wear, the lines they speak,

Are mass produced by bores.

The way they stare, it makes me freak

And head straight for the doors.

I smile and I mingle. I'm screaming inside.

I hate being single. It's wounding my pride.

We're all on the make but we never quite make it.

So little's at stake it seems futile to fake it.

I met the Sheik of Sherman Oaks. He wears a nifty turban.

He's loaded on a dozen cokes and half a shot of bourbon.

He says the action starts at one. Am I perchance a swinger.

He said we'll all have loads of fun and then he drank my stinger.

Oh, how I hate them singles bars. They drive me to distraction.

The guys with spoons and tiny jars keep getting all the action.

The nights are warm and pretty but the shoulders do get freezing.

I've got to leave this city where the women all keep sneezing.