Ally McBeal

1, 2, 3, 4!

Once upon a time you were on prime time
Made the Monday lineup on Fox at 9:00, didn't you?
Your complaints and whines while defendin' crimes
In your high hemlines made Gloria Steinem spit on you

And all the '90s women heed your call
And share your deep desire to have it all
But they don't see the way you stay so small
Behind the locked door of the bathroom stall
Sittin' there, hunched over and purging your last meal

Ally McBeal
Ally McBeal
Nothing but skin and bone
Just like a Kate Moss clone
Without no muscle tone
Like a skele-tone

You can try to lie, say your metabolism's high
But I ain't gonna buy it when you're outsized by Ethiopians
And I just can't stand you in your damn flannel jammies
Dancin' 'round, plannin' which man'll get the grand tour of your fallopians

I just don't get what all the people see
In your self-involvement and hypocrisy
Your Pop-Tart feminism and your cheap neuroses
As I stare into the vacuum of my TV
Scratching my head and trying to understand your appeal

Ally McBeal
Ally McBeal
Think of all the chunks you've blown
And all the up you've thrown
Into your porcelain throne
Regurgitati-one

(Ally McBeal...) [Repeats until fade out]

What? One more? OK!