The Poor Dead Girl
Beautiful was her face
And beautiful indeed her ass
Lots of money in her pocket
And cocaine up her nose
The people looked at her
Young girl of twenty years
The pictures in the paper
And on the television
She was the girl who had it made
She was all right
And when she died
The crying for her was great.
A couple of days before
In Waterford, a couple of young men
At a house party with friends
Dancing to music, kissing girls
They ate cocaine that night
And the world looked down its nose at them
For they were working class, those boys
And poor, so few said of them alas alas.
Maybe, on the morning of her birthday
When she saw the poor dead boys
She said to herself alone
“I wont do cocaine tonight”
And when she hit the floor
When great was her illness
Did she say to her friends
“Don’t do drugs!”?
And when she looks down now
At the people looking at her picture on the television
Maybe she’d not do the drugs
If the had the chance in her hand again?