Oh thyne pants be tight and thy hair be straight
In keeping of the eyeliner, to thy own razor be true,
Dost thou hold the flat iron as a weapon of destruction so great?
For no one knowest or understand thee not one, not two.
You hold your cigarette as no smoke issues forth from thyne lips,
An expensive fake habit doth pluck all coin from thy wallet.
Twas held aloft, a woman without the tits.
If conformation be what ye seek, here you will not find it.