The doll people are not men

They are made of ass and glass

Our skin is clay and painted blue

Our head can detach

We are statues with a pulse

We are art you can f*k

The doll people are quiet

What is there to say?

Art does not interpret itself

There are men with a day to save

We are paintings with legs

We are art you can f*ck

Drink the dolls

Legs spread like butter

We are wife, wh*re, mistress, maid, mother

The beauty and the buyer, take the screaming one because

A woman who doesn't want it is much hotter than one that does

Wife wh*re mistress maid mother

Wife wh*re mistress maid mother

The doll people are alive!

Or so they say

You can never trust

Never trust the art these days

To be admired takes precedence over admiring

To be desired takes importance over desiring

Drink the dolls

Legs spread like butter

We are wife, whr*e, mistress, maid, mother

The beauty and the buyer, take the screaming one because

A woman who doesn't want it is much hotter than one that does

Paint popping off us like rockets

Stepped right out of a male fantasy, the words still stuck to our pockets

The beauty and the buyer, take the screaming one because

A woman who doesn't want it is much hotter than one that does

The doll people are gone

They don't know what happened

They looked under our skirts one morning

But all they saw were maggots

They bang their head against the wall

They f*cked the art on that afternoon

The dolls are off laughing and running together

Swimming in the milk of the moon

Wife, wh*re, mistress, maid, mother

Wife, wh*re, mistress, maid, mother

Wife, wh*re, mistress, maid, mother