I know Seymour's the greatest
But I'm dating a semi-sadist
Still, that Seymour's a cutie
Well, if not, he's got inner beauty
Where we could be together at last
A fence of real chain link
A washer and a dryer and an ironing machine
In a tract house that we share
He rakes and trims the grass
I cook like Betty Crocker
And I look like Donna Reed
There's plastic on the furniture
To keep it neat and clean
In the Pine-Sol scented air
Between our frozen dinner
And our bedtime, nine-fifteen
On our big, enormous twelve-inch screen
He's Father, he Knows Best
Our kids watch Howdy Doody
As the Sun sets in the west
A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine