On a colorful armchair she sits

With her legs by a glass of

Bacardi is perched on the edge

Of a table for two by the side

Of a fireplace hang pictures

Of people from far away

Waiting all week for the Tupperware party

Waiting all week for the Tupperware man

Leaving the dishes in piles for her husband

Madeline squeaks with delight in her dreams

In the distance a hooter tells

John in his motor car drives to

The park in the front of her house

Is a pond full of fish and

A path to her doorway he

Opens the gate and he knocks

And comes in

Taking 'em down for the Tupperware ladies

Ripping 'em off for the Clip-Top Brigade

Moving to Manilow

Lust in a lunchbox

Madeline squeals as he pulls down his jeans

From a shirt and a tie

That's too big for his body

He moves between table and chair

And the sofa is

Covered with chintz and a dozen of

Ladies sipping Martinis whilst

Clutching at knees

Waiting all week for the Tupperware party

Waiting all week for the Tupperware man

Leaving the dishes in piles for her husband

Madeline squeaks with delight in her dreams

Bulging of biceps for Tupperware ladies

Grinding up groins for the Clip-Top Brigade

Winding down his yellowing Y-fronts

Madeline screams as he pulls at the strings

He ties up his shoes

In a chair in the kitchen

The cucumber sandwiches

Sit near the telephone rings

It's his boss in a chair in an office

Has got him a job so he drives off again