She Looks Like Rickie Lee Jones

Long blonde hair, skin so fair,

Million dollar rags,

She says style is everything,

I say it's all she has.

She's just passin' through she says,

Up to New York town;

Oh she's a work of art just hangin' round.

Ferlinghetti is her steady,

Sun Ra is her love.

She lives life like a refugee

With her Gitanes and her black lace gloves.

You'd better listen to what she says,

It don't mean a thing;

And she knows life like she knows magazines.

   She can't dance, she can't sing,

   She can't do much anything.

   She can't write, she can't play,

   But you oughta see her in a black beret

   'Cause she looks like Rickie Lee Jones.

   She looks like Rickie Lee Jones,

   So stop the presses and hold the phones,

   She looks like Rickie Lee Jones.

See her light a cigarette

With a candle on the floor.

She's got sixteen hours of art and film,

And stockings on her door.

And she's queen of the capuccino machine,

She's a gold card vagabond;

You'll find her next to you in the light of dawn.

   She's so fine, she's so beat,

   She's a poet of the street.

   She's got VCR, MTV,

   She's got Knocked Out Loaded on cd.

   She's hard to hold, dressed to kill,

   She's a red-eye plane to Coolsville;

   She's the queen of the tenement

   But she's just out of her element.

   And she looks like Rickie Lee Jones.

   She looks like Rickie Lee Jones,

   So stop the presses and hold the phones,

   She looks like Rickie Lee Jones.