She wore Seargent Pepper's jacket, and had braces on her teeth
She sang about her make-up and the reality beneath
In nineteen seventy-seven we had seen too many ads
And here was an alternative to slowly going mad
She was a plastic girl
In a day-glo world
She came out of nowhere
And went straight back there
I saw her on TV
She was germ-free
With her identity
She spoke for me
Her songs seemed to celebrate a consumeristic life
But Peel away the irony, and she sticks in the knife
She knew the roles expected were a servant or a whore
But she gave them the finger - Oh bondage, no more!
Nineteen seventy-seven was a very special time
If you couldn't sing and couldn't play - you just did it anyway
And the Pistols got to number one with a little help from Uncle John
And the NME wasn't full of shit - You could do it before you read about it
She was a cliche
And a poseur too
She was artificial
Just like me and you
And now she's gone
And she's not coming back
But she left her songs
In a plastic bag
Eclectic music label based in Bristol, UK. Specialising in short run limited editions that nevertheless shift very few copies. Local Underground is Rocker's baby, baby.