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Flea Market Mama
She’s my Flea Market Mama but everybody knows she lives uptown.
She wears ballet slippers. She got a Bette Davis evening gown.
She lives in a penthouse that’s five floors underground.
And it don’t matter how high you’re flyin’, man, this girl’s bound to bring you down.
She walks through Central Park draggin’ a twenty foot wedding train.
She’s got loose vibrations where other people keep their brain.
She paints her eyes below her cheek bones and she takes shelter in the drivin’ rain.
She says she’s got it all together but her doctor says the girl’s insane.
An’ it don’t matter what you ask her, there ain’t nothin’ that she don’t know.
If you don’t believe me, man, just ask her and she’ll tell you so.
She got her down home manners watching the late, late show.
First she’ll tell you where she’s been and then she’ll ask you where would you like to go.
She owns a Victorian mansion. She rents the back room to Robert Frost.
She’ll offer you the deed, man, if you’ll only pay the closing costs.
She burns bridges behind her including those she’s never crossed.
She keeps Milton on the attic and then she dreams about Paradise Lost.
She drives a five speed Bentley with a backwoods overdrive.
She keeps bees in her bathtub. She got a honey comb in every hive.
She’ll tell you that her way is the only way that you’re gonna survive
And if you ain’t dead yet, man, I swear that girl will kill you alive.
She stands beneath the trees and she prays for the rainbows end.
She’s a self-appointed princess. She’s an enemy to most of her friends.
She got a foam rubber body that gives but it just don’t bend.
An’ she’s got highways on her arms, man. She can fix ‘em but they just won’t mend.
She crawls inside her shadow. That’s where she spends her time.
If she can’t live in her dream, she helps herself to most of mine.
She keeps her dog tied up with a twisted piece of bailing twine.
It don’t matter where she found you, when she leaves you, you won’t feel so fine.
Yeah, she’s my Flea Market Mama but everybody knows she lives uptown.
She wears ballet slippers. She got a Bette Davis evening gown.
She lives in a penthouse that’s five floors underground.
And it don’t matter how high you’re flyin’, man, this girl’s bound to bring you down.
© 1967 - RDT
NOTES: I co-wrote this tune with Jan Olsen. He wrote the first line and I wrote trhe rest of the lyrics and the music. Jan was describing his lady at the time but the song is not about her. It's about Jane, who's real name is not Jane at all.