silly benny

silly benny wears his skirts too short, likes the sweet feel of red leather,
doesn't mind domestic caviar, or shake his head to camembert, if it saves
a pretty penny, puts clean sheets upon the bed, and he wants to join

a rock band, cause he understands the glam, knows the power of mascara,
purple passion in the morn, scoops a mean line of his powders, dances
silly on the lawn, and he doesn't mind if he kisses boys, if they'll only

treat him right, maybe take him to the disneys, ride the rides all
through the night, cause he likes his cotton candy with a peck upon
the cheek; little benny runs through life at a deadly pace, shakes

his fist if you talk of fate, spells his karma with a major k, reads fat
buddha in the bathtub, zens from noon til 3 o'clock; he is a man from
those old eighties, surviving as he can, so raise your glass to silly benny

with a charm so rarely seen; toss him quarters, if it happens, that you
see him on the street, leave some soft hurrahs in passing, jelly beans
or golden port, do your goodly deed, kind passengers, on this

his final friday morn