Britney Jean by The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger Lyrics
This is the sad tale
Of the girl in blonde pigtails
From small town Mississippi
Her mother put her up for sale
She entered the room
All curls and perfume
Her wide eyes a promise
Of beautiful doom
The ambrosia of youth
Clouded the truth
A Cheshire cat smile
Had them fooled for a while
Britney Jean, an American dream
Spear through the heart of the pop star machine
Potato chips and trembling lips
The newspaper said that she'd never been kissed
Soon white socks and schoolgirl braids
Were traded for fishnets and snakes
Only her mascara ran
When she should have escaped
She stared in the mirror
Of what she had become
Don't they say you'll go blind
If you look at the sun
Like a plastic Rapunzel
She let down her hair
We pulled and we pulled
'Til we heard the tear
Britney Jean, an American dream
Spear through the heart of the pop star machine
Potato chips and trembling lips
The newspaper said that she'd never been kissed
At the old crossroads
With the ghost of Bob Johnson
She sold her soul
But forgot the fine print
If you find yourself lost in
The Hollywood hills
Follow the trail
Of glitter and pills
In a forest of photographs
Past the marquee
A little voice chimes
"Hit me one more time..."
Of the girl in blonde pigtails
From small town Mississippi
Her mother put her up for sale
She entered the room
All curls and perfume
Her wide eyes a promise
Of beautiful doom
The ambrosia of youth
Clouded the truth
A Cheshire cat smile
Had them fooled for a while
Britney Jean, an American dream
Spear through the heart of the pop star machine
Potato chips and trembling lips
The newspaper said that she'd never been kissed
Soon white socks and schoolgirl braids
Were traded for fishnets and snakes
Only her mascara ran
When she should have escaped
She stared in the mirror
Of what she had become
Don't they say you'll go blind
If you look at the sun
Like a plastic Rapunzel
She let down her hair
We pulled and we pulled
'Til we heard the tear
Britney Jean, an American dream
Spear through the heart of the pop star machine
Potato chips and trembling lips
The newspaper said that she'd never been kissed
At the old crossroads
With the ghost of Bob Johnson
She sold her soul
But forgot the fine print
If you find yourself lost in
The Hollywood hills
Follow the trail
Of glitter and pills
In a forest of photographs
Past the marquee
A little voice chimes
"Hit me one more time..."