Dirty Blue Jeans

Well, she married a millionaire by the time she was seventeen
But she soon got tired of competing with the bourgeois scene
For her twenty-first birthday, he bought her a French resort
The very next day, she spent in divorce court
Now she’s living like a queen, in her dirty blue jeans
She started hanging out with a shady mob
Who always seemed to have lots of money
But none of them had jobs
She’d only read about drugs in the magazines
But once she got a taste of this expensive cuisine
She had to sell most everything, except her dirty blue jeans
They sent her to some bar that she’d never been before
It was the only place that time of day she could score
The cops busted in and caught her trying to leave
With five grams of smack stuffed up inside her sleeve
And an ounce of mescaline in her dirty blue jeans
Six months at the clinic like some derelict drunk
A thousand bucks a day to get her off that junk
Spent all the cash that she’d won in the divorce
But she could always marry another rich boy, of course
Now she’s living real clean in her dirty blue jeans